


Forged In Fire: Wayfaring Stranger

by TristenCrone



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ancient Greece, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hiding, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Secret Identity, Secrets, hidden identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristenCrone/pseuds/TristenCrone
Summary: Rey has never felt like she belonged, reliant on her guardian and tired of being alone, she longs for her true home. She stumbles across an injured man named Kylo who will change the course of her life and destiny forever. She can't help but wonder if he is all that he seems, or if something else lies behind his scarred visage and haunted eyes.
Relationships: Hera/Zeus, Kylo Ren & Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 75
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mount Olympus

Immortality was a burden Hephaestus bowed under, his back perpetually arched over his forge. Callused palms gripped his hammer, the heavy clang of metal deafening, the heat from the inextinguishable flame barely perceptible on his skin. The scorching temperatures were nothing new to Hephaestus, who had spent the majority of his adult life in the bowels of Mount Olympus, working hard in service of the gods above.

He was designed to be one of them, a god, an Olympian, and yet they spurned him. His light was lackluster compared to that of the sun god, Apollo, or the spark within his own wretched wife, Aphrodite. The soft flickering of a flame paled in comparison, and so he was forgotten, unless they called upon him in need. It seemed they were constantly in need: girdles and swords, jewelry and armor, wings and bolts.

He resented them, and the name. Preferring something shorter. Wishing above all else that he could change his lot, change himself… finally prove himself worthy.

He wiped the back of his hand over his brow, brushing away the black hair that fell into his eyes. His hands formed them all, molded them with precision and grace that belied his size. Fists as large as the mallet that struck the anvil, thick corded muscles coiled tight in his shoulders and arms with the physical exertion of every swing, thighs steady and strong from standing for hours, even days at a time. He had honed his body into its own sort of weapon.

But it no longer brought him joy. The years he had spent serving others had at first filled him with a sense of fulfillment--happiness even. Gods however, were fickle creatures, and their attentions were soon diverted away from his hard work, onto their next endeavor or request. Even his parents, especially his father, forgot he played a part in their celestial world, until it came time for something he needed.

That was going to change. He would ensure it. No longer would he toil, forgotten and ignored. His birthright, his talent, his work demanded more.

And so, as he very rarely dared, he ventured upward, ill-at-ease with them and their ways. They fought and fornicated, bored after millennia, their whims changing with the winds and tide. He felt the familiar choking burn of bitterness in his throat. How petty of him, to be so jealous, to hold such acrimony for his own kind.

He had a gift; he would never face the final death. Yet, he was as unsatisfied as they were. He wanted more. They always wanted more than they had. What would finally make it enough?

He shook off the melancholic thoughts, intent on his mission. So, he was here to petition Zeus, to ask him for… something. To be more than just an underling. Perhaps his own domain on earth, where he could escape from Olympus and its stifling perfection. Or to be freed of his sham marriage, alas, he knew that would be received poorly.

He saw the domed rotunda of their chambers, pillars and arches, strength and beauty. Perfectly designed to represent the dichotomy of his parents. Night had fallen and the heavens gently illuminated the staircase leading upward. Torches lit at the top and base of the stairs danced in the soft evening breeze, the delicate scent of the jankaea blooms tickling his senses.

As he approached his parents’ quarters, he heard a quarrel from within, unfortunately not an uncommon occurrence. Unlike before, he could hear that he was the topic of the argument.

“Please, Zeus… Hephaestus is miserable. You bestow favor upon all your other children. Just, grant him some reprieve. You work him like a draught horse,” Hera complained.

The sound of his name on her tongue shot like an arrow straight through him.

“Ah… but we both know he is not one of _my_ children, _agapití_. So, it is _just_ that he labors to retain his place on Olympus, somewhere we both know he does not belong. But you so prettily begged for him to stay, and I graciously allowed. You know what the alternative could have been,” Zeus reminded her.

“Zeus…” The words barely choked out of her throat as she tried in vain to come up with an argument.

“I even deigned to give him a wife, the most desirable out of the pantheon, and what has he done with her? Nothing! He allows himself to be cuckolded, made a fool of. He is _weak_. A testament to the mortality that taints his blood,” Zeus shouted, the crash of a vase shattering on the ground emphasizing his disgust.

He felt the rage inside him climb, a torrent of heat that scorched him from within, the taste of it acrid in his mouth. His fists were balled so tight the skin struggled to stretch over his knuckles. He strove to grasp what he was hearing, but it seemed unfathomable. He was a bastard, a demi-god, if he understood Zeus correctly.

“You know she does not love him; she did not wish to be wed to him… Nor he to her. He deserves love,” Hera said.

“ _Does not love him_ … She is love! If she cannot love him, no one can,” Zeus said.

He heard a scuffle from within, and the soft yelp of his mother, stifled before it could bloom into a scream. Without thought he burst through the diaphanous curtains and into their domain.

Zeus gripped her arm in his burly hand, the other smothering her cries as he pressed her up against the marble column. Her hair was disheveled, her breast heaving, trying desperately to inhale. Her wild eyes found her son just a moment before he spoke and she shook her head, pleading with him to retreat.

Not this time.

“ _Unhand my mother_ ,” he growled. 

Zeus turned toward him, shoving Hera out of the way, almost across the room and she hit the floor with a thud, a whimper escaping her mouth.

“Now is not the time, son. This does not concern you. For your sake, _leave_ ,” Zeus returned, his eyes already clouding from the storm within. Beyond the room Hephaestus could see the skies following suit, darkening in warning.

“Ah, but it seems it does. And it seems I am _not_ your son,” he countered.

His “father” with his golden façade, eyes that matched the skies he ruled, sun-kissed skin and flaxen hair that fell straight. He in no way matched his heavenly physicality. His skin was pale from the years underground, his ink-black hair curved and twisted down to his shoulders, his eyes dark as coal.

Zeus was upon him, faster than he could have anticipated, and they stood facing one another. It should have been evident that they were not blood.

The only commonality between the two were their murderous scowls, fists ready for battle.

“You should have left when you had the chance,” Zeus warned.

“What choice did I have, when you treat my mother thus? You are deplorable, _Zeus_ , and I am pleased you are not my father,” he boasted, ignoring the fear that curled in his belly, warning him to stand down or face his wrath.

“You will not live to regret that statement,” Zeus said.

Hera sobbed, curled up on the marble floor, ichor dripping from her nostril. The sight enraged him. His mother had been the only one to treat him with true kindness, not just a false imitation to elicit obligation and loyalty.

“Zeus please, do not strike him down, I beseech you!” Hera cried.

“ _Agapití,_ I will not stand for this blasphemy, this ingratitude. After all I have done, everything I allowed. His sentence is irrefutable. I am simply doing what I should have done, that day so long ago. I should have exposed him, and let nature run its course. I fear now, I will have to take matters into my own hands,” Zeus said, his voice cold.

Zeus’ blue eyes flashed white, seconds before Hephaestus realized what that meant. He had just been sentenced to death by the elements, one in particular: lightning.

The bolt _he_ helped to hone was summoned and dispatched by Zeus with blinding fury, the might of it forcing him out and away. His body hurtling through the storm that ravaged the sky. Streaks of light, howling wind and the thunderous roar of Zeus’ anger was on display for all to see.

He wondered if this was what it felt like when Icarus fell.

The sickening lurch of his plummet slammed into his core and he spun out of control, his body at the whim of gravity. Soaked and scared he dropped out of the sky to the earth below, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Kaimeni Chora

258 BC

Rey rose before the sweet tendrils of dawn kissed the horizon. She twisted her brown hair into spirals along her scalp before gathering the mass into a knot at her nape, fastening it with thin strips of cloth she had to serve as ribbons. It wasn’t as elegant as some other ladies would have theirs, but she had chores to do before daybreak.

Her _kyrios,_ Loukâs had reluctantly agreed to escort her to a wedding in the village, if she completed the tasks in time, one of few opportunities to try and secure a match. As the only male guardian she had, going to a social gathering without him would ruin her reputation. Rey was already well past the age at which most girls married, and although Loukâs needed help on the farm, an advantageous marriage could afford him gifts in exchange for her hand.

As her _kyrios,_ he served as protector and negotiator if a suitor propositioned her. However, with every passing year, each wedding and religious ceremony where none approached, her chances slipped even further away.

She could not blame them for their reluctance. She was not a common beauty, nor did she have any money to her name. Her years of working the land with Loukâs had left her skin bronzed by the sun and freckles blemished her face and arms. Her hands were rough-hewn, and she had neither the time or skill to style herself fashionably. Her calluses weren’t very attractive either, apparently.

Her mind wandered as she worked alone, hands gripping the plough as she readied the plot for planting. She did what was expected of her, the repetitive task leaving her mind to wander, dwelling on how small and alone she felt out here as she finished her work.

By the time they arrived at the wedding her skin held the soft sheen of perspiration and a layer of the soil she had ploughed that morning. Not a great start. Loukâs did nothing to hide his sour expression, as usual around other people, preferring to keep to himself and his land.

He left her with a few of the other unmarried women in the courtyard and joined the men for libations. She felt uncomfortable with these girls, most of them gorgeous in new chitons, their hair coiffed and adorned with beads and laurels, all younger than her. They stared at her, the words unspoken: _farm girl, barely better than a slave, why does she waste her time?_

They whispered and giggled amongst themselves, not bothering to speak to her. As a well-known failure in these parts she did not take offense. They were a superstitious lot. She wondered if they believed she could curse them with spinsterhood, or if they just thought she wasn’t worth their time. After all, most of them would be betrothed, if not married by the end of next winter.

Fortunately, she did not have to suffer their company long before they went upstairs to wait. She was able to rest for a moment on one of the stools, admiring the garden starting to bloom within the courtyard, the heat warming the stones beneath her feet.

Spring would soon be upon them, and she longed for hot summer days. This wedding was uncommonly late in the year, most brides preferring January, for Hera’s blessing, but Rey suspected that the bride had been compromised and a marriage was required, January or not.

She had missed the revelry yesterday, and the ceremony this morning, only making it in time for the marriage feast. As such, the women were separated from the men and required to wait their turn before they could indulge in the food.

Rey yearned for time to race ahead. Her work in the fields and time spent traveling had emptied her stomach to the point of echoing roars, something else that earned her the antipathy of her peers.

The scent of roasting meat filled the air, smoke from the fires obscuring some of the sky. Some women had pressed dried flowers into their hair, the sweet smell drifting with the gentle twilight breeze.

Eventually they were seated at tables reserved for the women, the remainder of the food dispersed between them. Rey forced herself to eat it slowly, not wishing to appear too barbaric in her appetite.

She lost track of time, and when her hunger finally was sated, the other girls had left her behind to dance and celebrate Their desserts already eaten. They stood tossing fruit and nuts at the wedded couple on their way to their chamber, the bride’s veil to be lifted as a completion of her journey to womanhood.

Without her noticing, night had fallen, the warm hints of spring now giving way to a bite in the air that had her wishing she had remembered her himation to cover herself with.

It felt like the other weddings Rey had been to, unable to make a match, surpassed each year by girls younger and prettier. She could not blame men for ignoring her as a prospect. At this point her yearning was almost a desperation, something she was sure they noticed. At this rate she would never make a traditional match, no matter how many weddings she attended with Loukâs.

She tried to shake off the melancholic feeling that draped around her, thinking about dessert to distract herself.

Her dragées lay neglected, grouped in front of her, the sugared almonds too tempting to resist.

Her hand closed around them, ready to finish the meal, when she was stilled by an urge she could not name. Memory swirled about an old tale: sleeping with the dragées under her pillow would allow her to glimpse the face of the man she would marry.

She had never been desperate enough before to give in to such superstition, choosing to believe that she held more power over her own fate. But time became less kind each year, and soon she feared it would be too late for her. So she gave in, and hid them within a small pouch sewn inside of her dress.

Before long Loukâs returned to her, weary and ill-tempered. His graying hair was disheveled, his eyes red from the smoke and an evening of imbibing.

“Come, Agreos. We are going home,” he said, tugging her up from where she sat and she knew he was serious because he only used her full name when he was upset.

“But, the _epaulia_ is tomorrow, we already missed the first day and most of today, it would be rude to leave the celebration before then,” she replied.

“It would be unseemly to be left alone without your _kyrios_ , and I am leaving. I have had my fill of this place and these people.” She hated that he held the upper hand.

He dragged her along with him, her feet struggling to keep up while she tried in vain to look back on the revelry, yearning for belonging she had never felt.

“It would also not do well to attend the _epaulia_ empty-handed. I brought no gifts,” he told her and she finally stopped fighting, knowing that the shame of it would do neither of them any good.

They were already seen as strange: Loukâs being the recluse that he was, spurning the gods and the ways of their followers, and his ward: an orphan born under a blood moon, shunned by her own family. It would not help for them to be considered rude as well.

They travelled back to the farm, the winding road dark lit only by the stars, dim lanterns in the sky. The rocking of the wagon lulled her toward sleep and Loukâs gruffly told her to rest on the back, a crude straw pillow sufficient to see her through the night.

With enough clarity of mind to remember, she reached into her pocket to retrieve the dragées, settling them under the straw and succumbing to the sweet promise of sleep.

Images she could not explain danced within her mind, flashes, too quick to grasp fully. Flames and clanging, sweltering heat and bitterness within. Shapes, so many people coming and going, not staying long enough for her to make out their faces. She could not move. Instead she lingered behind a murky shape, outlined by the forge, the heat and work never ending for whoever was in front of her. 

Then, the images shifted. They were swiftly pulled upward, still unable to see who she was tethered to, but she felt his apprehension, the loneliness that curled into his chest and turned to stone. He too had had enough, overlooked for the last time.

He rushed into a chamber, beautiful and lush. Marble and gold glittering under the light of the sky, somehow so much brighter than the one she had observed just before sleep.

His shape finally came into view, a behemoth of a man, his body strong and rough from all of his labors, black curls haloed around his head, brushing the tops of shoulders carved from marble at the hands of a master. He confronted another, just as immense, but light to his darkness.

She could not hear the words, but she felt her companion’s fear seconds before the strike. The golden man thrust a burst of sharp light toward him, flinging him out into the air. His face met hers, fear within infinite dark eyes offset by the brilliant white light that struck him.

His dark brows knit over those eyes, intense and hawkish, a lush mouth parting slowly as she saw him fall through the curtains, the scene fading, leaving her with nothing but the memory of his face and the diminishing echo of a harsh scream.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She woke screaming, startling the poor ox and setting it off running, the cart bouncing with increased frenzy as they escaped from a demon that lived only in her head.

Loukâs was not pleased, expletives shooting out of his mouth as he tried and failed to get the beast under control.

Rey tried to maneuver her way back to the front of the cart, which was nearly impossible, given the speed at which they moved and the pitch darkness.

She kept trying to reach over to still the animal, but succeeded only in getting herself hoisted off the back of the cart.

Her rump met hard ground and gravel, the crude road not much of a soft landing.

The dust that the ox and the cart kicked up choked her. She had no idea if Loukâs even knew she was no longer with them.

“Stupid ox. Stupid dream. Stupid me,” she lamented, rising to her feet and trying to dust some of Hellas from her backside.

She followed the faint dust trail, hoping that she found them before too long. As independent as she liked to believe she was, walking hours in the dark was beyond what she found comfortable. Snakes and any other number of dangers could be lurking in the tall grass.

A groan from the distance startled her, pulling another yelp from her throat before she realized what was happening.

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth, but it was too late.

She had alerted whatever was out there of her presence.

Perhaps she could still continue on without drawing any more attention to herself. The faint dust trail that led to the cart was long gone. Strange hooting and grass rustling startled her and Rey felt her chest racing, the fear filling her body and leaving it leaden.

Her foot found a twig, the loud snap as good as a scream in the night stillness.

She heard another groan, her head flicking toward the sound.

_Keep walking, just keep walking. You’ll find Loukâs eventually. Ignore it._

“Please,” came a broken plea from inside the tall grass. “Please help me,” he said.

His voice had more gravel than the path she stood transfixed on.

In the distance, rolling along the horizon was a monstrous storm, lightning streaking the greying sky. It would be upon them soon. Any tracks made by the cart would disappear; any tracks she made as well. She wouldn’t be able to catch up to the cart, and they wouldn’t be able to find her as easily.

A part of her worried that Loukâs would decide to leave her. He preferred to be alone, and she knew that he regretted taking her in at times. Lean winters were not always kind, companionship and additional work in the summer meant little compared to an extra mouth to feed and diminishing supplies.

He had also been inebriated when they left, he might not even notice her gone until morning.

She heard rustling followed by a cry of pain.

A choice. Her choice could damn her, or save a life.

If this man was badly injured, he might not survive the night, or the storm. The least she could do was see to it that he did not die alone. Her mind made up, she ventured into the brush, toward the sound she had heard earlier.

“I hear you, I’m coming,” she said, trying to maneuver in the night, the darkening sky impeding her visibility.

“I… I can’t see very well. If you can, please talk so I can follow the sound of your voice,” she said, fear and determination battling within her.

“Thank…” he cleared his throat, the sound painful, “thank you. I will do what I can, for as long as I can,” he said, and she could hear the toll talking took, his voice fading to an almost whisper by the end.

But she was getting closer, she could hear it, could almost feel the space between them like a tangible thing.

“What is your name?” she asked, trying to keep him awake and talking.

“Heph…” he stopped, silent for a moment before clearing his throat again. “Kylo,” he finished, difficult to make out.

“Kylo?” she asked, trying to confirm what she had heard.

He let out a harsh bark of a laugh, the sound dragged from his throat and elicited a coughing fit that racked his whole body.

She rushed toward the sound, his immense body weighing down the grass he had landed on. Without thinking she knelt down, her hands reaching out, palms meeting a bare chest, slick with what smelled like blood. His body shook beneath her hands, rough coughing followed by the sound of choking.

Her fear escalated to panic, his injuries seemingly far worse than she had even imagined. She had to try to turn him, so that he could dispel whatever was suffocating him.

Her slender hands wrapped around his shoulder, the skin impossibly hot to the touch, tugging to try and urge him over.

She was met with a whimper.

“I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ ,” she managed, tears of frustration and helplessness threatening. “I need to turn you over, but you’re just too heavy,” she said.

She pulled one more time, a loud groan ripped from him as he tried to help her, forcing his body to cooperate. Together they were able to turn him onto his side, and she knelt behind him, to keep him propped up.

Running a soothing hand over the fevered skin of his back while he expelled what smelled like more blood and some bile, she wondered what happened to him. His breathing was labored, each inhalation accompanied by wheezing exhalation, the space between them impossibly long.

And still the storm found its way closer.

“I need to check you for more injuries, may I touch you?” she asked, the urge to help him overwhelming her sense of propriety.

“Yes,” he rasped.

Her hands trailed down his back, over the arm she could reach, cuts and abrasions littered across both. A large gash on his back, another on his chest, weeping blood into the ground. Her hands found fabric around his waist and she sent a prayer of thanks up to the gods... He was partially clothed in a short chiton, or what remained of one, and though she knew it shouldn’t matter as much, given the circumstances, it did help to make him seem less intimidating.

She had never been alone with a man before, at least not any besides her guardian, and it seemed even stranger to have her hands on this stranger’s bare skin.

Her fingers reached over his leg and she sucked in a breath when she felt the misaligned bones. They’d had oxen over the years that had broken bones, but most were not worth saving.

“How extensive is the damage?” he whispered, the sound almost lost in the growing wind.

“I won’t lie to you, it isn’t good. Your breathing is labored and shallow, open wounds across your chest and back, your leg is broken. I can’t move you and there is an immense storm approaching. I…” But she couldn’t finish. She didn’t know what comfort she could offer him in the face of the damage.

She sniffed, tears finally escaping now that she realized the depth of her powerlessness. Would anything that happened to her ever be within her control?

She felt him move, try to push himself up at the sound of her crying.

“Please - don’t - your injuries…” she said, pulling him back toward the ground. He lay back down, and she sat beside him, crossing her legs, urging his head up onto her lap, his body shivering with the cold wind surging through the grass.

Gathering as much of her skirt up as she could, she covered his torso with the fabric. The thin linen was not much help against the elements, but all she could offer.

She tried to rub her hand over the less injured parts of him, infusing what heat she could, but he still shivered, teeth chattering between breaths.

“I’ll stay with you, Kylo. We will weather the storm and my guardian will come for me as soon as he is able. Just hold on until morning. Please,” she begged.

His massive hand lifted from beneath the fabric, resting on top of hers, stilling its movement. His hand was so large that his palm alone covered almost her whole hand. Squeezing her fingers, his thumb stroked a small circle onto her skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Something within her flared to the surface, something too foreign to name, but she could not focus on it with all that was happening. Her eyes trained on the sky above, about to drench them, the howling wind eerie as they sat alone in the black.

“What is your name?” he asked, struggling to form words, clearing his throat multiple times to get the sentence out.

“Rey. Well, Agreos, but everyone knows me as Rey” she answered, the first droplets of icy rain mingling with the warm tears on her cheeks, her skin prickling from the cold.

_How would they make it through until morning?_

The lightning illuminated his face briefly, and despite the distortion from his injuries she couldn’t shake the feeling that they had met before. His eyes were so familiar.

“Rey…” he breathed and the skies opened.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

His demise was imminent. A pain unlike any he had experienced before bloomed throughout his chest, escaping in rivulets of blood that mingled with the deluge from the heavens.

Soil, rich black earth cushioned his broken body, the smell heady, but the rain fell so hard it felt as if it eroded the very ground to bury him alive. Zeus would not stop until his life thread lay in tatters.

His only regret was that this sweet girl, salvation in the darkness, would suffer for his choices.

She bent her body over as much of his as she could, her torso protecting his face from the worst of it. He felt the occasional warm droplet fall onto his skin, her gentle shaking the only indication of her weeping.

His hand still rested upon hers, his head laid in the hollow of her folded legs, her thigh supporting his neck. Her dress flung over his chest, useless against the storm, but a sweet gesture nevertheless. Her other hand was placed atop his head, absentmindedly stroking the hair out of his face, her skin icy against the fever that raged within him.

Fighting to stay conscious he focused on the pain, refusing to succumb. He could not move his left leg, and from what she had said his bones were broken. The spikes of rain sent shards through every cut and gash.

 _So, this was what it was to be mortal_ , he mused.

No wonder they prayed to the gods.

She tried to soothe him, soft whispered words that he could not comprehend over the roar in his head, but he understood the intent and tried his best to relax against her.

Her fear felt almost palpable, she had almost not come to his aid, and he did not blame her. He did not know much of the moral world, but from what he had heard about his family’s exploits, women were often assaulted when found on their own. It made sense that she would waver, not wanting to approach a man alone, for the sake of her own wellbeing.

Still, he would cherish this for as long as he lived. To be touched with such care and kindness, to know this sharp sweetness before death was a boon he had not expected or deserved.

His grip on reality was slipping, the tendrils of the final darkness beckoning. Perhaps he would find peace in his uncle’s kingdom, far from the reaches of his “father.” Even if he was subjected to the depths of Tartarus, the heat was something he was used to.

She must have sensed him fading because she lifted his head and cradled him in her arms. He blinked through the haze, occasional lightning strikes illuminating her face. Her eyes were wide with stark fear, her bottom lip quivering with emotion. Dark curls fell down her shoulders, over her chest, pooling around him, a curtain of protection.

She seemed to be repeating the same words relentlessly, it only penetrated after a while that the words falling from her lips were “please” and “Kylo” which only served to highlight the ridiculousness of the situation.

She begged for a man that did not exist, the words of a prayer that would certainly fall on deaf ears. His sentence was irrefutable, the charge laid against him before his birth and he had never even suspected.

Selfishly, he thanked whichever of the Fates that had led Rey to him, at least he would not die alone in a foreign land. He only regretted that he had lied to her. Had he known how dire his condition was he wouldn’t have bothered. No human would have believed him. Instead he had tried to protect himself, and now the wrong name rested on her lush lips.

He had to make this right, had to come clean before death claimed him, but his body disappointed.

“Rey,” he rasped, all his throat could manage, a mangled attempt at her name.

“Shhh, you need to rest, the storm will pass soon and Loukâs will find us,” she told him, stroking his hair again, her fingers twining with the black curls.

“Rey,” he tried again, the sound grating, “I am sorry,” he managed.

Words failed. He failed.

He felt a sob shaking through her small frame, hot tears hitting his skin like embers from a forge. He hated that this would be the memory she held of him, the last memory anyone had of him, one of pain and collapse.

“No,” she stated, her voice vehement, “No, you do not get to die. Not now,” she said, placing her forehead against his, fatigued.

She must have been freezing and exhausted, but she held on. As if some of her spirit could infuse him and keep him from tipping over that brink.

His eyelids were leaden, his body growing numb from the punishing cold of the storm. He did not think he would make it to morning. He doubted he would survive the next few minutes.

So, he shut his eyes and focused on her gentle touch, the fluttering of her pulse beneath his thumb, her steady breathing. As he fell further into oblivion, ready to meet his uncle, he could have sworn he felt a kiss pressed to his brow, jolting throughout his entire body, his chest on fire where her palm rested.

He awoke to a new day and a jostling movement, a rolling accompanied by the clip of hooves and the crunch of dirt. Nearby he heard her and another speaking quietly to one another, their voices hushed, careful not to disturb him.

“What can we do for him? From what you said he barely survived the night,” a male voice said, gruff and thick.

“We have to try, Loukâs. Please. We can’t just leave him to suffer. At least let him die in comfort,” she pleaded with him, her voice horse.

“And then what? I dig you both graves? Bad enough you are taking ill from the storm, now I must waste resources on a dying invalid?” Loukâs said, not an ounce of pity coloring his voice. He sounded like a harsh man, shrewd, but unsentimental.

“The storm would have hit whether I was on the cart or not, you knew we weren’t near home. We can’t just do nothing,” she tried to reason with him.

“Who will care for him? What will the village say? It is not proper for me to have you, an unmarried woman, under the same roof as a strange man,” he said.

“I will care for him, between chores, and you and I both know you worry little about the opinion of the villagers. It has been years and no match has been made. I have come to accept my fate,” she said.

Loukâs scoffed at her, a humorless laugh snapping out of him.

“Ha! We were at a wedding last night because you were not done trying. What has changed your mind so suddenly?” he asked.

She cleared her throat.

“I put the dragées under the straw pillow in the cart last night before I fell asleep,” she said. “I saw a man, and I watched him get struck down. So, whoever the man was that I was supposed to marry is dead,” she said, her tone so sad, so resigned.

Loukâs just laughed.

“You know better than to believe in those old-wives’ tales. And _why_ did you stop to help him?” he asked, irritation coloring the question, seemingly very put out by the turn of events.

“Why did you stop to help me?” she countered, and Kylo sensed that she wasn’t talking about today.

She was met with silence, the crack of reins the only answer, and Kylo knew without being told that it was not the first time she had asked this.

Before long the cart came to a stop and he dared to open his eyes. Only one complied, the other was swollen shut. He saw clear blue, no storm clouds in sight. He lifted his hand shakily to his face, fingers gently prodding the area around his eye, a deep laceration running through his brow and down his cheek. He winced at the contact.

“He’s awake,” she breathed, sounding joyful at the prospect.

“Good, we will need his help to get him inside. How you even managed to find such a large brute…” he trailed off, and both he and Rey settled alongside him, one of his arms thrown over each of his shoulders, struggling to lift his weight.

He tried to help them, but despite his efforts his body was too weak from loss of blood, another sign of his sudden mortality. Gods did not bleed red. On the rare occasions that ichor seeped from one it shone gold with life itself, and they healed within moments.

Kylo limped through the door with their assistance, unable to place any weight on his left leg. As they braced him up, he was struck by how small Rey was, her shoulder not even meeting his underarm, her head just reaching his chest. Loukâs wasn’t much taller, and he wondered if his height was an attribute of his former god-status.

They led him through the home, into a separate bedroom, a bed constructed from olive wood and covered in sheepskin. He had never seen a more welcome sight.

The frame creaked under his weight as they gently lowered him to the bed. Rey fetched a pail and a cloth, dipping it into the water and washing the mud from his body, careful not to irritate his wounds too much, or sully the bed. Most of it had thankfully washed away with the storm.

Once his body was clean Loukâs helped lift his legs and swing them up onto the bed, leaving the room soon after. Rey fluffed up the pillow and helped him lay back down, covering him with the sheepskin, her own hands shaking as she did so.

“Rest, we will prepare some food and check in on you in a while,” she said hovering at the doorway, a soft smile teasing the corners of her lips.

For the first time he was able to take her in fully. Her chiton was ruined, some of the fabric ripped, dangling off of one shoulder, covered in dark earth and dried blood. Her hair clung to its former style in vain, curls tumbling over her shoulders and breasts, down to her waist. She was devastating.

Her eyes were deeply shadowed, skin far paler than it should be, freckles stark against her pallid complexion. She looked exhausted, and he was the only one to blame.

He opened his mouth to speak, unsure of where to start, the impossibility of a second chance more intoxicating than ambrosia. But she shook her head and gave him another small smile before leaving him to drown in his own thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She joined Loukâs out on the field, already bent over, his hands dark with the damp soil. She pulled the seed sack over her shoulder and joined alongside, laying kernels into the divots they had dug just a day ago. And yet, so much seemed different.

He avoided her gaze, his mood worse than usual, worse than it had been in a while.

“Loukâs,” she started. He huffed at her, rolling his eyes, hands occupied.

“You know we had to do it, we couldn’t just leave him there to die,” she said.

“I am not discussing this now,” he said.

Anger surged within her. Her whole life she had been met with his dodged answers, cryptic remarks and lies of omission. She still knew so little of her true family.

“Would you prefer to discuss something else? My lineage, perhaps?” she countered.

He dropped his own seed bag, turning around to glare at her. The stare had been intimidating most of her life, but it was different now. Something about staring someone else’s death in the face, without being able to do a thing about it, hardened her resolve.

“Enough of the lies. All my life I have shirked rumors around the village, stares and whispers. I have grown up without a single friend, no family, save for you! No wonder I can’t make a match. I deserve to know why everyone treats me this way,” she begged.

He marched toward her, his leather-bound boots stomping deep into the ground he had just turned. Looming over her, he tried that glare again, age pulling his face into a tragic mask.

His hair mostly grey, hung to his shoulders, a thick beard streaked greyer than brown. His face wrinkled with discontentment and stress. Years of it, sitting on his skin. She wondered if he had ever been happy. As long as she had known him, he had given no indication of it.

“I took you in despite the opinion of the villagers, fed and clothed you and saw to your safety. My pain may have prevented us from being a true family but I did what I could for you, which is more than I can say for your family. You are better off not knowing. Some gratitude would be appreciated,” he said.

Her hands curled into tight fists, the handful of seeds within them cutting into her palm, the pain grounding her.

“I owe you nothing. I have earned my keep for as long as I have been physically capable. I worked these fields as hard as you did, if not harder. My hands have bled, my skin blistered. I have never complained. Just _tell_ me, for gods’ sake.”.

His eyes flashed at that, his nostrils flaring, teeth bared, jaw impossibly tight. She knew the mention of the gods was a cheap trick, knew how much he abhorred them, but she didn’t care anymore if she hurt or disrespected him

“Your mother was a young girl from the village. When I moved here from Athens, she worked in a store. She was kind on the occasions that I saw her. I didn’t even know her name. She hid you, until it was impossible. Unmarried, she cast shame upon her family. They tried to force her to name the father, in the hope of securing a marriage. She refused. They cast her out, and she starved as a vagrant in the village, no one willing to associate with someone sullied,” he started, the words flowing out of his mouth almost too fast for her to comprehend. The information just kept coming, a deluge that she was ill-prepared for. She had never heard any of this before, hadn’t expected him to finally give in.

“She had snuck onto my farm once or twice to steal food. I pretended not to notice, left food and fabric out where she could easily access them, and I kept my distance. One night, under the blood moon, she brought you forth. You came with a ferocity that she could not withstand. I heard her screams too late, she bled to death not far from this field. There was nothing I could do for her,” he said, his eyes shadowed by his powerlessness, a feeling Rey understood very well.

For the first time she saw raw emotion on his face. It seemed to haunt him still.

“I begged her family to take you, they refused, claiming that even if she hadn’t been ruined, the circumstances of your birth were a poor omen. They told me to leave you, expose you to the elements and let the gods see to your cursed soul,” he said, shaking his head, his fists clenching and unclenching in anger.

“You know what my feelings are toward the gods,” he said with a humorless laugh.

The words were a veritable fist to her stomach. She felt as if she may become ill, purging the contents of her empty stomach right into the grain field.

“So, I took you in. And the rumors circulated. Most assume that I am indeed your father and that I took you in out of guilt because I turned your mother away. Others think me pitiful, a man without a family of his own, inheriting an orphan to continue his own legacy. Truthfully, I cannot say why I did it. I knew I was not fit to raise you, that part of me broken beyond healing. Perhaps I did it to repay your mother’s kindness. Maybe I was made aware of my own morality. Either way, I have done the best that I could for you. I’m sorry it was not enough,” he finished, his anger fading into bitterness.

Bending down he scooped up the bag, progressing with his task as if nothing had transpired between them.

Soon, the sun high in the sky, they completed the seeding and ventured back inside to eat. Loukâs took food to their guest, hovering silently for a few minutes before coming back out, muttering under his breath about something being unnatural.

After supper, Rey peeked into her bedroom to gauge how their guest was faring.

He lay sleeping, the dying sunlight leaning into the room at strange angles. His wounds seemed to be healing, very quickly. The gashes were mending, his skin knitting itself back together. He would have significant scarring, but it seemed he was past the worst of it. 

Long black lashes rested on his high cheekbones, his sharp nose jutting out, silhouetted by the light behind him. He looked like a sculpture. A sculpture trying to fit its hulking form into her small bed. His feet hung over the edge of the bed, bare toes sticking out beneath the sheepskin. Angry, red puckered skin bisected his face.

Loukâs’ words rang in her head. _Unnatural_. She hated to agree, and felt silly when she considered the night before. His chest had stilled beneath her hand, she had felt his heart slow to a stop, certain that he had met his end. She had begged to the heavens, screamed her fear into the heart of the storm, and willed him to hold on. Somehow, he had clung onto life.

Now, now it seemed as if things had never been that dire after all, merely her imagination.

She brushed away the thoughts. Settling herself in for the night by the hearth, between the two bedrooms, on a small roll of furs. Succumbing to sleep within minutes, she suffered fitful dreams, images of death and storms, and lightning bolts striking men from the sky. Girls giggled at the wedding feast, drowning in dragées. 

She did not feel very rested when the morning sun pierced into the room.

Loukâs emerged from his bed shortly after, not even sparing her a glance before he entered her room and shut the door. Seconds later he emerged, supporting Kylo out of the room and helping him to settle into one of the chairs.

Rey sat on the floor, still wrapped in the furs, her hair abysmal and twisted in multiple directions. Bleary-eyed she watched as Loukâs paced across the room.

She tried to meet Kylo’s eyes, to see if he had any idea what was going on, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Loukâs stilled, standing between them. She recognized the look on his face, had grown accustomed to it over the years.

“Agreos, Kylo,” Loukâs said, her full name making it obvious that whatever he was about to say was dire, and indisputable, “Despite the strange circumstances we find ourselves in, and my hesitation toward this man… no normal person heals with such speed nor do they just appear half-naked in the middle of nowhere. Nevertheless, by my estimation you have now shared a meal and a roof, by the standard of any self-respecting Greek you have compromised Agreos’ reputation, and tradition dictates that you have to take her as your betrothed.” 

Rey choked on her own saliva in the haste to object.

“Loukâs, do not be ridiculous. The poor man has just escaped death, we took him in out of Xenia, showing him hospitality. You cannot truly mean to do this… I’m sorry about this morning, but that is no reas…” she started, staring up at Loukâs with panic in her eyes.

“I accept,” came a reply from the chair, his deep voice unwavering, cutting into her protest before she could even finish. His expression was unreadable, those dark eyes drinking her in, like warm honey soaking into freshly baked bread. 

“Very well,” Loukâs said, “we will begin preparations immediately, the wedding will commence as soon as you are well enough to partake in the celebration.” His tone was accusatory, but Rey could not read into what he meant.

Kylo seemed to, though, his lush lips pinching into a thin line, his expression darkening. He nodded once, with hesitation.

“I am going to the village to announce your betrothal. Where exactly is it that you hail from, Kylo?” Loukâs pressed.

Kylo’s expression remained dark.

“I come from a village in Olympos called Dion, between Thessaly and Macedonia,” he said cautiously.

“And yet you find yourself so far south. I am sure you will regale us with the story of how you ended up in Kaimeni Chora at the wedding feast,” Luke said, exiting the house, intent on his path to the village.

Rey fought to remain composed, a myriad of emotions rushing through her body. Struggling to identify any of her feelings, she focused on the one thing that shone clear through the rest: anger.

She turned her gaze on the man that sat nearby, staring down at her, indecipherable in his silence. He loomed through the chamber, suffocating her with his size, his audacity. They had made this decision without even seeming to hear her protests.

It wasn’t strange, logically she knew that. Guardians negotiated directly with suitors, marriage more like a contract than anything else. But she had expected it to be under certain circumstances. Not blind-sided in her own home. Not sleep-mussed and confused, the imprint from the sleep roll still red on her cheek.

So, she turned her anger and confusion on him.

“ _What_ did you just do?” she asked, her voice deceptively soft, belying the roiling chaos within her, and the fear that left her feeling like she was teetering off the edge of a cliff.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Her ire surprised him. He had not anticipated her objection, or for it to be so strong. He knew little of mortal customs, but her guardian had come into the room and explained that he had compromised her honor. Loukâs had made it sound very dire. Kylo felt compelled to help her, especially after she had watched over and protected him during his injuries and the storm.

Loukâs’ distrust had also been evident. He could sense that Kylo’s rapid healing was abnormal. He only hoped that Rey and Luke did not realize, for their own sake, the extent of it. If Zeus sought to finish his assassination, he did not want either of them nearby. Especially not Rey.

She had an unusual beauty, like a thistle, rough but blooming despite adversity. Her skin was like honey, warm and intoxicating. He could still feel the imprint of where her hand had rested on his chest. He felt protective, and wanted to repay her for what she had done for him.

Now, however, it seemed he had been mistaken. She did not desire a union, clearly not with him, and his “father’s” words echoed within him. Who could love him indeed, when all others had cast him aside or ignored him, especially now that he was so deformed, his body a shadow of its divine past?

She went about her chores, ignoring both him and Loukâs, her expression thunderous. Her eyes were narrowed, her bottom lip worried between her teeth as she contemplated. He took the liberty of cleaning the house, stoking the fire and trying his best to get everything set up for dinner. Cooking was not a skill he had, but he could ease the burden, make himself more than just a ward, a drain on their household.

Walking was arduous. His cuts and other injuries were healing--slower than he was used to, but far quicker than this world usually allowed. His leg had not fared as well. The bones had not been set, and so they fused back together inadequately, leaving him unable to stand for long periods of time, or walk without a vicious limp.

His face too would scar, the blow had been so severe, but he was grateful he had not lost his eyesight.

By the time they returned for the evening meal, Rey took in the work he had done, her lips thinning, and gave him a single dismissive nod in thanks, but not bothering to look at him before she set about her task of preparing supper. Loukâs grunted, his eyes narrowed as he took Kylo in, leaning against the doorframe, before lumbering over to the closest seat.

They ate in stilted silence. Growing accustomed to mortal food, Kylo was happy to sate the aching emptiness of hunger that preluded most meals. So many new experiences: thirst had been a big one to identify, at first, he worried his tongue was atrophying within his mouth. He had much to learn.

“Rey,” Loukâs said, drawing her attention. “Tomorrow you will go with your betrothed to hunt for food for the ceremony and feast the day after. It seems he is healing very well and should be in fine form. I will remain here and see to garb for both of you, as well as ensure everyone is aware and will be in attendance,” he said, ignoring Rey’s protest and continuing before she could interrupt.

“I will not hear it. You’ve wanted to find a suitor for years, dragged me from wedding to wedding, feast to funeral. Now, a perfectly acceptable specimen appears to you and suddenly you have qualms? You will be alright, I raised you strong, and if he lifts a hand to you, you know how to handle it. So, no more arguments. It has been announced, it will commence,” he said.

She swallowed hard, a deep breath rising with her chest. Kylo averted his gaze when he felt heat rise to his cheeks. So strange how his body had changed. He felt things so acutely, reacting to every emotion with a physical response. It felt as if he were brand new, no longer in control of his own responses.

“I was merely going to say, I don’t think Kylo would be up to much walking,” she finally answered, her tone resigned.

So, she had come to accept it.

“I worked on a walking staff for him for short distances, and you will take the cart. I expect enough meat to see to the guests, you will not be able to carry it back by hand. I’ve also pulled out one of my old chitons, so our guest can be properly dressed,” he finished, teeth tearing into a drumstick of one of the fowl he had slain earlier.

Her lips pursed, a curt nod, still averting her gaze from him.

He looked down at himself, self-conscious for the first time. He had not worn much different than the tattered remains of his clothes on the mountain, the only variance being a single tie over one shoulder. The forge was blazing, any extra fabric just a hindrance. Mortal modesty was new also, along with concepts of acting honorably instead of in one’s own self-interest.

The gods mocked the mortals, considered them inferior, but from his short time below he had been astonished by the kindness and fierceness with which they lived, with which they felt each emotion. It was almost as if they could sense how tenuous their life-threads were, and so everything was heightened, sharper, more painful.

He glanced over at Rey again, the light from the fire catching on her curls, turning the tips fiery. More exquisite than he had breath to withstand.

They turned in for the night, preparing for an early morning and a long day out in the wilderness. He settled in her bed, feeling guilty for putting her out. He had not realized until this morning that she slept on the hard ground. They would not hear of him sleeping elsewhere and so he had no choice but to wait for the soft sounds of her snoring to sneak out of her room.

It would be difficult, but he had to try. He bent down carefully trying not to put too much weight on his bad leg. Scooping his hands under her body, he carried her to her bed, snug in his arms.

She cuddled closer, her hand finding that spot on his chest again, settling into his warmth. He was loath to set her down, but she needed the rest, the shadows beneath her eyes had been pronounced, her skin finally regaining color by the end of the day.

Lying her down with care, he pulled the sheepskin over her shoulders, daring to stay for one more look before he set out to the living quarters and settled into his spot on the ground.

Before morning broke, she shook him gently, offering him a chiton. She was already dressed and ready for the day. Her hair was braided down her back, swinging around her waist in a thick coil. He dressed quickly, donning the fabric and the shoes that pinched but would serve better than none. A crude walking stick leaned against the wall by the door, and his hand wrapped around the staff, relying on it far too much for his liking, but the alternative proved too painful.

He would not be the same.

They rode in silence, the dawn announcing itself with soft pink tendrils, followed by the blazing iridescence of the golden sun. For the first time in his existence, he did not feel animosity toward Apollo, finally struck by the wonder of experiencing a new day.

The craggy terrain was interspersed with tall grasses, trees providing occasional shade, they stopped and Rey retrieved a bow and arrow from the back of the cart.

“Wait here, I will call if I need your help,” she said, not bothering to wait for his response.

He obeyed, for a while. The sun rose and stretched across the sky, moving its way across as more and more time passed. Kylo grew concerned and followed her tracks into the brush. The trees thickened, the distance growing between him and the open field in which the cart and ox sat.

He walked for as long as his leg would allow, stumbling, needing to rest against a tree, but his step was a noisy one, breaking twigs underfoot. The dark cover of the trees enveloping him in a strange silence.

He sensed her a moment too late, and wasn't quick enough to let her know that it was merely him, the arrow slicing through the air with an almost imperceptible whoosh.

Her strangled cry let him know she had aimed with intent.

“No!” she shouted, her hand outstretched as if she could pull the arrow back through the air, her own eyes screwed shut as if she couldn’t bear to see. He knew her shot would land true and so he closed his eyes, bracing for an impact… that didn’t come.

He looked down. The arrow lay a few feet from him, smoking wood curling into ash.

Assuming he had been able to call upon some powers in his desperation he covered the dying embers with some sand, packing them deep into the earth, his pace harried as he couldn’t bear the sound of her tears.

“Rey…” he ventured.

Her head shot up, eyes red-rimmed, one nostril streaming.

“Kylo?” she hiccupped.

“It’s okay, Rey. You missed me,” he said, trying to ease some of her concern.

“I missed you?” she echoed, her voice hollow.

She came toward him, her expression puzzled, lost. She stopped in front of him, her brows knitting low over her eyes.

The back of her fist met his uninjured shoulder and he was startled by the ferocity of the blow.

“You oaf! I told you to stay by the cart. I could have killed you!” she shouted.

“Glad to see your concern for me is still intact,” he said, teasing her.

She just huffed at him, pushing past him back toward the direction of the cart.

Her shoulder collided with him and he caught a whiff of her, the sweet musk of her skin and something else, something that smelled almost like a lightning storm.

His eyes found the buried arrow, and he wondered.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

She could not still the shaking. What she had almost done weighed her down and left her unable to summon warmth, despite the afternoon sun baking onto her skin.

Her arrow was poised to pierce his heart, she knew that. She realized her folly a moment too late and wished with every fiber of being that she could retract it, pluck it right out of the air. By some divine miracle the arrow had missed. Perhaps some god _had_ plucked it from the air.

Kylo was shaken, she saw his face pale, saw him regard her strangely, not without cause. He must think her the most awful shrew, so averse to their betrothal, only one day away from the house and already attempting murder. She fought the urge to bury her head in the closest burrow.

The wild rabbits had proven pesky this morning, too quick for her bow. Her mood was affecting the hunt, the conflicted feelings churning within her leading her to be careless, to make too much noise. She was distracted, and it had almost cost Kylo his life.

She looked up at him, marveling at his size. He had seemed large when injured, clearly did not fit in her bed, but standing beside him was another matter. He towered over her, broad shoulders jutting out wide and proud despite the pain he was in. His hand swallowed the staff, leaning heavily on it, white-knuckled, but not complaining. His skin was starting to turn pink from being in the sun, and she hoped they would find something soon before it became inflamed. He did not mention any discomfort, but then she had come to realize that he wouldn’t.

He had carried her to her bed as she slept, unaware, aggravating his injuries and subjecting himself to a hard night on the ground, just for her comfort. She didn’t know how to react to that. She was still coming to terms with the fact that they would be married, and soon. Nothing would change Luke’s mind now. It could have been much worse, she knew.

She glanced up at him again, took in his strong profile, his vitality shining through despite what he had endured. She respected him, cared for him even, the desperation with which she greeted the idea of his death was proof. 

But she was afraid.

This man, this stranger was dangerous. He was unlike any man she had ever met: considerate but built like a warrior; kind to her but determined. She knew, instinctively, that once he made his mind up about something, he would see it through.

Now that included her.

She remembered the feeling of his rough palm on top of her hand, how even when he was helpless, she had been intimidated, and she wondered what it would be like, being touched by him when he was completely in control. She shuddered, crossing her arms over her chest, the strap of her quiver pinching under her arm, and she used that feeling to distract herself from her wayward thoughts.

Something prickled at the edge of her consciousness, and it must have alerted him as well because they both stopped short at the same time, ears pricked for the slightest sound. She raised a finger to her lips, urging him to be silent, as she pulled her bow from her shoulder and an arrow from her back.

Nocking the arrow in place she steadied herself, inhaling, her fingers anchored against her mouth, and she listened.

Brush rustled, followed by snapping twigs and grunting noises, she exhaled with the expulsion of the arrow, spinning through the air, silent and hopefully deadly. They were met with a squeal, the horrid sound of an animal choking on their own blood.

The boar stumbled through the brush, trailing blood in its wake. She had managed a shot through its throat.

“Quickly,” she urged, rushing forward, already unsheathing a knife from her side.

Kylo walked over as fast as he could. By the time he hobbled over, Rey had slit the boar’s throat, its hind legs held high in front of her as the blood drained from its body. She had no trouble lifting the animal, solid as it was. Loukâs would surely be pleased with this catch.

“It’s not too heavy for you?” Kylo asked, his expression bemused, and she bristled at the question.

“No,” she said, her chin jutting out, trying to inject pride into her voice, waiting for him to ridicule her as so many others had.

She made her way back to the cart to load up the kill. One more animal and they could return home, to prepare for their wedding tomorrow.

“What is it that you do, or did rather, before we met?” she asked, curiosity pricking at her, the urge to get to know him overwhelming.

“I was a smith. I worked on various metals, crafting weapons and gifts,” he said.

She marveled at his build again and it made so much more sense, the hours of forcing unyielding metal into glorious shapes. No wonder he looked so strong.

He was watching her as well, that troubled expression never easing. Why exactly did he look at her like that?

Too distracted by him, she was careless as she tossed the boar onto the back. One of the tusks sliced across her bicep, an angry gash spilling blood down her fingers.

Before she could react in frustration, Kylo ripped a piece of his chiton, wrapping the fabric tightly around her arm to stem the bleeding. She wanted to tell him not to bother, knowing that she clotted fairly quickly and injuries rarely had lasting consequences, but she refrained, her breath halting from the feel of his hands, gentle and firm. The rush in her chest from his touch cresting over her, erasing what little sanity she had left

They travelled in silence, the rocking of the cart the only sound save for birdsong. They went higher and higher up the mountain until the trees started to thin. In the distance, Rey could see a herd of deer. If she did this right, she could take down at least one, if not two.

“Stay here. _Don’t_ wander off this time,” she warned before she slunk down to the ground, trying her best not to draw their attention. The wind was in her favor, and she stalked upwind, nocking her arrow and releasing it before they even heard her approach.

It was a shot that was longer than the range she usually could cover, but she sent a prayer along with the shot, willing it forward, as if she could control the wind. Whether through belief or skill, her shot met its heart and it collapsed to the ground.

The herd fled with anxious haste, but the buck she had felled was large, big enough for the feast. She finished her routine, slitting its throat and bleeding it before carting it back, looping its legs around her shoulders, carrying its weight on her back.

She knew her chiton would most likely be ruined from the blood and dust, but thankfully they had only lost half the day. They would be home by sundown, and would be able to eat. 

Kylo regarded her with that unreadable expression, a mixture of shock and awe - and suspicion? She had no way of knowing, and was too tired to care. The day had proven successful, for the most part.

But she could not forget the shot that hurtled toward Kylo, convinced that it would strike him, so confused that it hadn’t. In her shock she hadn’t even bothered to go back for her arrow. Very unlike her indeed.

“Rey,” Kylo asked, his voice soft and seemingly hesitant.

“Yes?” 

“Tell me of your customs for the marriage ceremony, please. I suspect they differ from where I am from.” 

She thought about it for a moment, realizing her own wedding would differ from the region’s tradition anyway, because of who she was and who her guardian was.

“Normally it would last three days, the first being the _proaulia_ , where the bride and her family would prepare for the wedding and have a feast. They would offer up _proteleia,_ gifts and offerings to the gods,” she said, not going into much further detail, since this step was irrelevant. She had no real family, and the one she was a part of shunned the gods. They would not offer her their protection or blessing; she was on her own. He seemed thoughtful at that, a small contemplative sound catching in his throat and he nodded for her to continue.

“Next would be sacrificial offerings and bathing, followed by the _gamos_ where guests will celebrate and feast with the couple, bestowing favor and the god’s blessing upon them as they transition from the house of the bride’s father to their new home. Lastly, the _epaulia_. The couple are presented with gifts by their relatives,” she said, the excitement in her voice fading with each explanation as she realized that her wedding would have none of that. 

They would not follow any rituals, or seek any blessing. There was no home for them to move to, no relatives to bestow gifts. She suspected that the feast would not be well attended, due to the haste of it all, but more than that, she knew the villagers held no love for her or Loukâs.

“I’m sorry, Rey,” he said, clearly able to see that she was upset. Again, all these things she had never considered, had not prepared for, caught her off guard.

“I’m sorry that I have no home to present to you, or relatives nearby, not that they would be happy to see me even if they were,” Kylo said, regret thick in his voice.

“No. I meant no harm, I don’t blame you. Our wedding won’t be like that because of Loukâs, because of the way I was raised. He… despises the gods, has forsaken them, as he claims they forsook him,” she said.

He laughed without mirth, the bitter edge of it difficult for her to hear. He seemed pained.

“I understand how he feels,” was all he said.

They traveled in silence, the sun creeping behind them, shadows lengthening. As the house came into view and Rey readied to dismount the cart, Kylo’s hand on her arm stilled her movement.

“Wait,” he said, and cleared his throat, “I just wanted to let you know that I am grateful to you. I owe you my life, Agreos. I will spend the rest of my days repaying you for that, and I hope that I can do that by being a good husband--a good partner,” he said, his eyes imploring her, as if a hidden thread of feeling lay embedded in the words.

Rey’s throat felt as dry as the fields at his words, his touch. She had not expected to have such a depth of feeling toward any man, especially not her husband. Her plan had always been to improve her station, to marry for position, not feeling.

She nodded, unable to force words past the vise in her throat. He released her and she looked down at where he had touched her, just above the knotted fabric. She worked it loose, not wanting to alarm Loukâs, dropping it onto the ground, covering it with sand.

They both glanced down at her injury, or what was left of it. It had healed well, the damage not as extensive as she had initially believed, all that remained was an angry pink line, puckered with a thin brown scab.

She nodded, pleased, and moved toward the back intent on bringing the kill in to Loukâs, on the way over she caught Kylo’s gaze and it shook her to the core.

His dark eyes simmered with something akin to anger, threatening to burst free, his mouth slightly parted, a muscle below his eye twitching in the light of the dying day. Too intense for her to bear and so she looked away, dragging the dead behind her.

She couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t waste time trying to guess his moods or thoughts.

They had a wedding to prepare for.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

She was like him in more ways than he had been ready for.

He had not slept the whole night, his thoughts chasing him, haunting him with their intensity. What he had observed could not be ignored and he felt the urge to laugh, not because it was funny, but because he could not believe the cruelty of the Fates.

Out of all the places he could have fallen, all the people that could have stumbled upon him, they sent a demi-god.

He held no doubt of that, watching her closely, his mind stitched it all together. He was supposed to die, had cheated death, because of her. He remembered the sweet agony of her lips on his forehead, the fiery hand at his chest, hotter than a brand. She had healed him somehow.

Her strength was incredible for one so slight, her aim impeccable. He thought of the arrow that crumbled into ash before it could strike him, her other arrow intended for the buck, travelling impossibly far against the wind, as if compelled by some other force.

And then finally, her wound. He had bandaged it himself, pressed his hand against it to slow the bleeding. The cut had been deep and yet within hours her flesh had knitted itself back together, already scarring.

There was no argument when she went to her bedroom later that evening to bed down, after skinning and preparing the meat, the dishes for tomorrow filling the area in which he would sleep.

The hearth seethed hotter than it had been since he had arrived, but as usual it did not bother him. It lent him a sense of familiarity, a comfort against the turmoil that churned within.

Loukâs spent a few hours preparing the food, and Kylo assisted him where he could. The two of them working in silence, and not a comfortable one at that. Still, it served as a reprieve from his fear.

What would become of them? He had nothing to offer her, given time he could work, accrue wealth, but at the moment she was tying herself to a maimed man, a drain on any household. What would they do about their powers, about avoiding the attention of the gods? He could try to hide alone, but the two of them would end up drawing attention.

He did not pay attention, did not consider the normal way of things. His hand closed around the handle of a pot, pulling it out of the fire without bothering to wrap a cloth around the metal. A sickening hiss sizzled loud within his closed fist as the sweat of his palm met the scorching handle.

He set the pot down, trying to remain calm, knowing he felt no pain, unsure how to avoid the inevitable questioning from Loukâs, who even now regarded him with distrust instead of concern.

“It wasn’t that hot,” he said, a feeble attempt to deny what had just happened.

“Let me see it,” Loukâs demanded, his voice deceptively soft.

Kylo considered it for a moment and then unfurled his unblemished hand.

Several emotions flickered across his face, Loukâs moved from fear to anger and eventually settled into a grim mask that he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“So, which one are you?” Loukâs asked.

“I don’t know what you are referring to,” Kylo said, trying.

“Do not play with me. I have seen the hand of the gods. I have seen what they are capable of. Men do not just fall from the sky and live…” Loukâs said.

Kylo knew it was no use. He had revealed himself with his own negligence, and there was no telling when it would happen again. He would never be safe. The draw of having just one person know the truth of him was too alluring to ignore.

“Hephaestus. I am… was, Hephaestus,” he said.

“How did you come to be here? Did you seek her out? I know what your kind is like,” he finished, in disgust.

“No, _no,_ it isn’t like that!” he protested, louder than he should have, and he forced himself to calm down. “I interfered in the affairs of my parents, or rather my mother and her husband. He is _not_ my father. I was cast out for my insolence, sentenced to die, struck by his power,” he said.

“And so, you found yourself an unsuspecting maiden on the way down?” Loukâs asked.

“No, I told you. She found me. I was about to die in that field, I _should_ have died. You claim to know so much and then you miss what is right beneath your nose. _She_ saved me,” Kylo said.

“What are you saying?” Loukâs asked.

“She is like me, most likely a demi-god as well, her powers do not align with any other deity. If she was offspring of a nymph or such, she would have shown signs too plain to ignore,” Kylo said.

Loukâs sank down from where he knelt by the hearth, his backside meeting the floor. He seemed stunned, and Kylo knew he was running through a myriad of memories, searching for all the signs he had ignored.

“I just… I thought she was strong from all the hard work, talented under my tutelage. I was blinded by my loneliness, and the guilt that came with thinking that I could have somehow saved her mother, had I not been so deep in my own grief,” Loukâs said, his voice thin, the words barely carrying. He seemed close to tears.

Kylo wanted to say something, wanted to console him, but did not have the words.

“I had lost my family, my wife and child, my _brother_ , all killed by your kind,” Loukâs stared into the flames, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

“How do you know?” Kylo asked, genuinely interested in how he could be so sure, especially a man who by all accounts denoted the gods.

Loukâs scoffed, turning his gaze onto Kylo, the depth of his grief swimming in his eyes.

“My brother, Han, had been dallying with a woman in secret. I thought it strange that he kept it from us, he was unwed and was free to socialize as he wished. My wife was concerned, he snuck out at all hours, waking the baby with his carelessness. So, I followed him one night, intent on confronting him,” Loukâs started, his voice brittle as he spoke of his family.

“She came from the sky, even in hiding her splendor for his sake, she shone with a light that was unnatural in its beauty. She pleaded with him, told him that they had to end it, despite how they felt. She had only come down initially to the mortal realm to see to some ardent requests from her worshippers, hadn’t planned to become entangled with a mortal man,” Loukâs said.

Kylo wondered who it had been, _probably Aphrodite_ , he thought with gall.

“They professed their love for each other and parted with a bittersweet kiss, tears in both their eyes. The sight of it shook me, so badly that I stumbled my way home in a daze, getting lost in the city. I took too long,” Loukâs said, and Kylo could only imagine what happened next.

“His anger rained down from the sky, lightning slicing through the peace of night, focused on only one area. I ran, following the blasts. I was too late. My home, those of my neighbors and the agora nearby, blackened and fiery. No one survived,” Loukâs finished, his energy seemed to have left him, and Kylo wondered for the first time how old he was. He seemed to bow under the weight of it all.

 _Zeus_.

He didn’t even need to ask, didn’t bother. They both knew the truth.

But something about it would not leave his mind.

“How long ago was this?” Kylo asked.

He knew time moved differently in Olympus, knew that from above it was not prey to the seasons and the sunsets, they aged differently. But they kept track of how much time had passed in the mortal realm, so to gauge when help was truly needed.

“Thirty years,” Loukâs said, the edge in his voice, the pained lines in his face making it plain that time had done little to dull the ache. “Why do you ask?” 

Kylo could not voice it, could not sort through the hellscape that was his mind right now.

He tried to deny it, but when he searched his feelings, comparing them with what he knew, he sensed the truth of it.

This man, this grouchy, weathered man, was his family.

Zeus would not have struck out if Aphrodite took a human lover, nor any of his other family members. The only person that inspired that level of jealousy was his mother, Hera.

He did not know whether to curse or kiss the Fates. His death sentence led him to his family and a woman that _saw_ him, that didn’t look through him as if he didn’t exist.

Loukâs stared at him, confusion on his face as he watched Kylo process. Raising an eyebrow, as if to further prompt him. “Gods age differently on Olympus, but here, in the mortal realm, 30 years have passed since I was born,” Kylo said. “The argument I interrupted was about me, my parentage. Zeus made it clear that I was the product of my mother’s indiscretion and thus he held nothing but disdain for me,” he finished, willing Loukâs to understand what he was saying.

“It’s not possible,” Loukâs breathed.

Kylo willed him to open his mind, to accept the truth of what happened here tonight. His ward was one of the gods he so despised, his family tree no longer dead. Kylo watched him struggle, saw the tug between wonder and hate play across his face. He couldn’t blame him.

“This is too much for one night, too much for one man. We will continue with the wedding, we have no other option, Rey deserves at least a bit of happiness and normalcy in her life,” Loukâs said, and Kylo knew he meant it. He truly cared for her, despite his gruff treatment.

Kylo nodded his agreement, loathe to sever the fragile thread that had woven itself around them. He wanted nothing more than to see her safe and happy as well.

“Might I use some metal I find to fashion a ring?” Kylo asked and Loukâs agreed.

“You can tell her after, once you are wed and safe, but let’s just give her tomorrow,” Loukâs said, both the men nodding once in a promise, before he left for bed.

Kylo endured a fitful night, seeing to the food as he was not able to sleep. By the time dawn broke over the horizon he had already washed and dressed in his wedding garb, damp hair curling in his neck.

It did not differ much from the chiton the day before, the fabric soft and thick, draping across his body gently, the color of honey. His wounds had almost completely healed, but the scars remained, his leg still bothersome. He would not heal completely, it seemed. But he was just grateful to be alive, for the chance at a future.

He was ushered out of the house along with Loukâs, setting up the tables and seating for the festivities. An older woman from the village and her child brought in water to bathe Rey. So different from anything he had ever seen.

He would not see her until she was handed over to him during the ceremony, the women being kept separate here in the mortal realm. It boggled his mind, his mother and female family members were so strong-willed, so vocal most of the time. Such strange customs here, seemingly in place to subjugate the women.

They worked for most of the day, Kylo being introduced to men from the village of various ages. They seemed friendly enough, not overly warm with Loukâs but cordial. He learned that Loukâs and Rey supplied much of the village with the fruits of their labor. Their farm was incredibly successful even when others had failed.

Some dared to ask where he was from, none asked about his injuries. Overall, they seemed to stay grouped with people they knew best, happy for the food and the warmth of the sun baking down on them without having to work for it.

Kylo just counted the minutes until it was all over and he could breathe again. It felt like a sparrow was caught in his chest, screeching from behind his ribcage, locked away and anxious about it.

Time dragged, the ring he held in his palm heating against the flesh, burning his skin. Or at least he could have sworn it did, for it felt unbearable to hold onto.

Finally, the day sinking below the fields and mountains with flash and fury, the women emerged from the house to partake. The ladies took their leave to eat and Loukâs walked toward him, Rey’s hand in the crook of his elbow. He could barely make her out through the veil.

The gossamer fabric matched the sky somehow, the fiery cast of a forge, her chiton was bound around her body in a way he had never seen before, tight around the bodice and torso, a brown leather belt cinched at her waist, flowing fabric dancing around her legs as she walked. Brass cuffs wound around her arms, one at her wrist, the other over her healing wound.

She was magnificent, backlit by the dying day, and that inner radiance that he now knew belonged to the gods. She stood before him, standing tall, ignoring all others.

Loukâs took her hand from his arm, giving it an almost imperceptible squeeze, before placing it within Kylo’s outstretched hand.

“I, Loukâs, bequeath this woman, entrusting her to this man, who will henceforth see to her protection and happiness,” Loukâs said.

He gave Kylo a pointed look, and he sensed that somehow happiness was not a traditional addition to the wedding vows. “I accept my role as husband, partner and protector, and vow to care for her until the end of my days,” Kylo responded.

He heard the crowd titter at his statement, but he did not say it for their benefit. He could feel Rey’s hand trembling within his, her pulse racing, like the frenzy of a hummingbird’s wings.

Loukâs and Kylo nodded at each other.

“Rey, do you accept this man as your husband, and echo his sentiments?” Loukâs asked.

“I do,” she said, her voice stronger, as if what he said had put her at ease.

“Now, the pair will exchange rings as pledges of their troth,” Loukâs said.

Kylo unfurled his fingers, his knuckles creaking in relief. The metal ring glinted gold in the late afternoon light, picking up the flickering of the torches nearby. He had painstakingly braided thin pieces of metal into an eternal vine, twisted around itself.

Gently he slipped the ring onto the third finger of that shaking hand.

Rey lifted her other hand, her own ring that she had made from the silky strands and stalks of barley and wheat. It was rough, but beautiful. All the more special for having come from her hands.

She slid the ring onto his finger and he gave her hand a soft squeeze.

“We all bear witness to the union of Kylo and Rey, wed and bound, and bestow our blessing and congratulations,” Loukâs exclaimed, and the guests in attendance cheered, louder than Kylo had expected. He was sure the honey mead and feast had helped soften their reserve.

Loukâs reached forward, lifting the fiery veil from Rey’s face, finally revealing her to him. Her eyes shone, the flickering torches reflected within, her expression nervous but her hand steading within his.

She was radiant, all the light of the world paled in comparison. The soft lips, parted slightly, pale freckles littered across her nose, hazel eyes large and staring up at him as if nothing else existed.

He could not resist, his hand moving of its own volition to cup her cheek, the smooth skin hot to the touch. Her expression shifted, uncertainty and hope and fear. Echoing the same within him.

His back bent, neck straining toward her, unable to hold back any longer, despite the conflicted feelings within him. They would address all of that, sort through it later, for now he only needed to see if she was as sweet as she looked.

Their lips met, a gentle kiss, flesh giving and taking as she met him with ardent feeling. He ran his tongue against her mouth, the taste saccharine and intoxicating, more potent than ambrosia.

In that moment, the space of time between, they ceased to exist for anything but this. Feeling as if he had been struck through the chest, the damage irrevocable, he pulled away with reluctance at Loukâs’ insistent throat clearing.

Glancing down at her he watched her eyes open slowly, her cheeks flushed, lips the slightest bit swollen, her expression flashing with emotions too fleeting to make out, but she seemed shaken, her eyes wild.

“Join me in celebration, please enjoy the evening with us,” Loukâs said, raising a cup, urging others to do the same.

Kylo and Rey stood transfixed, unable to move, or think, or breathe.

Loukâs left them where they stood, engaging in stilted conversation with one of his neighbors.

“Rey…” Kylo said, not finding the words to describe what had just transpired, desperately grasping for a way to tell her he had never felt more alive, happier, than in that moment.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice insistent.

He did not need to be told twice.

They wandered further from the crowd, away from the light of the torches and the heat of the bonfire. Voices faded, still he followed her. Finally, she came to a stop, the sights and sounds of the celebration far gone. They paused by a large oak tree, the lone one for acres in each direction, surrounded only by grass and the heavy blanket of night.

He reached for her, eager to delve into more of her, the temptation of her oblivion overwhelming.

“Wait,” she said, and he took pause, trying and failing to read her expression in the darkness of nightfall.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, concerned, plagued by the sudden thought that he was alone in his feelings for her. No one could love him, after all. Had he fallen in vain, for someone who did not reciprocate the depth of it.

“What are you? Where are you from?” she started, her voice shaking. “What… What am I?” she finished and he tried to tamper the fear within him. He had no idea how she knew, but this was not supposed to happen like this, he was supposed to have time to find the way to explain, without losing her.

“Rey, please, don’t be alarmed. It will be alright,” he tried to console her.

“No, answer me!” she said, desperation clawing up her throat.

“What happened?” he asked, sensing a shift in her after their kiss.

“I saw… something, when we kissed. Snippets of a dream that felt too real. I saw you falling from the sky, I saw you caressed by flames but your skin did not burn, forging a fiery weapon. I saw myself… but I, I was not myself. I was something, other. My hands…” she tried to explain, her emotions overtaking her as she relived her vision.

“You and I are the same, scions, progenies of the gods. I know how it sounds, but I wanted to wait to tell you, once we were safe and alone, after the wedding. I knew it would sound unbelievable to you, I didn’t want to scare you,” Kylo said, trying to reach out to her, to soothe her frazzled nerves.

“Well, I am scared! The things I saw were strange, and _unnatural_. I am not like that,” she said, her voice steeling with conviction.

“Rey, do not make this harder than it has to be. You and I both know how strong you are, how fast you heal… Your arrow, it did not miss. You would have struck me through the breast but you stopped it, _you_ stopped it and turned it to ash before it could pierce my skin,” he said, willing her to remember what she had suppressed and ignored for so long.

“No. _No._ That arrow missed you, it’s in the brush somewhere,” she said, trying to reason with him.

“Please,” he beseeched, “You can feel the truth of my words, _glikia mou_ , The night we met I should have died-- _would_ have died had you not used your power on me,” he said.

“That’s not what happened! I prayed for the first time in my life, and the gods answered, they saved you, not me,” she argued.

“Agreos, you are the goddess that saved me, _you_!” he said, reaching for her hand, bringing it up to his breast where it had rested that night.

He felt the imprint of that touch every day, like a brand singed into the flesh.

She tried to tug her hand away, her fingers curled into her palm, a small fist within his grasp.

“Let me go!” she cried, tears thick in her voice, fear mounting.

She pushed against him, the bulk of him not budging, despite her strength.

“You feel it, you know the truth of it,” he insisted.

“ _No!_ ” she shouted and her power surged through that fist, right into his chest, shoving him back with a slice of blinding white light.

Heavens… that bolt shot through him, jagged and sharp, stealing his breath and knocking him to his knees with the pain of it.

He heard her sob, the sound catching at the back of her throat, the gravity of what she had just done, of who she was, slamming into her all at once. Her voice quivered, the lament in her cry agony to hear. He wanted nothing but to reassure her, but he could not force the words through his own breathlessness.

She turned from him, racing away, the swish of her dress against the grass filling his ears, the soft tread of her feet getting further and further away. He only hoped she ran back toward the house. Though she knew the land far better than he.

He urged himself to his feet, shaken by the force of her running through him. This was not the way their wedding was supposed to go. This was not how he pictured finding the love of his life.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

She ran as if the hounds of hell themselves were chasing her, trying and failing to escape the reality of what had just transpired.

The vision, the nightmare was real. What she had seen, it would come to pass, somehow, the lightning that left her fingertips proved that, proved what she was.

She had always felt strange, other, and having it realized, understanding why was too much for her to comprehend. He had tried to break it to her gently, to ease her into the truth of it, but she had lashed out at him, hurting him. He had gasped for breath, brought to the ground by the power of her assault. His pain was her fault.

She reminded herself that she should be angry that he had kept it from her, but she couldn’t focus on anything other than her fear and self-loathing.

How could she have done that to him?

 _To your mother_ , an insidious part of her mind whispered. Could she have been the cause of her mother’s death, the act of birthing offspring of the gods too much for her mortal body?

She was too distracted, not herself, not in control. Her body trembled, the cold night creeping around her now that the sun had drowned beneath the sea on the horizon. 

She wished she could get a handle on herself, go back and apologize to Kylo, or whoever he truly was… she didn’t know anymore. She wrapped her arms around herself, her hand gripping the brass that encircled her bicep, the metal ring on her left-hand clinking against the cuff with the contact.

Gods, what had she gotten herself into?

It wasn’t like her to run and hide. She had always been stubborn, a force in and of herself. Her life was just not what she had imagined it would be. She had harbored such resentment and loneliness for so long, felt like an afterthought, a burden her whole life. Loukâs had taken her in, yes, but he was a man incapable of love. Something inside of him had been broken years ago, most she could hope for from him was kindness and a teacher.

Still, what she yearned for was a family, a true family, of her own.

Now the chance for that stood right before her, massive and brooding and scarred, but somehow sweet, and she ran away in fear. Ran away from herself.

She could come to terms with it all later, they could face it together. She could ask him all the countless questions that buzzed around her mind, too cacophonous to make sense of. First, she had to go back and apologize for hurting him, for lashing out when he just wanted to help.

If only she could calm down and orient herself, try to remember where she had left him, where the house even was., The tall grass obscured too much around her.

She wandered away from the coast, the sound of the distant ocean the only beacon she had, save for the few stars that peeked out between fluffy clouds.

Eventually she picked up a scent, a strange current to the air, she could almost feel the energy left behind. It felt like a hive bustling, the air seemed supercharged, like a single strike would incite the whole field. This must have been where she struck him, but he was nowhere to be found. She could barely make out the shape of the oak tree nearby.

“Kylo!” she tried, yelling for him, hoping her voice would carry, but despite the ferocity it barely travelled, as if the sound was swallowed by the energy surrounding her.

“Who are you calling out for?” she heard a male voice say from behind her, his voice soft but it felt intrusively close.

She spun around, but despite what she heard he was meters away, she could barely make out his shape against the sky as he came closer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you approach,” she tried to tamper the fear that flared within her. “I was looking for my husband, he was hurt and I need to find him to ensure he is alright,” she said.

It was so strange, the word husband on her tongue, like the first taste of a new favorite sweet, exciting and different and immediately she wanted more, wanted it to stay dancing on her tongue.

“There is no one else here, save for you and me,” he said.

“Yes, it would seem so. If you would excuse me, I’m sure he is nearby, I have to find him,” she said, trying to get away.

Something wasn’t right here. The air was too still, the hairs on her arms prickling, standing on end. She hadn’t heard any animal noises since she had returned and felt the current in the air.

“I could help you search for him,” he offered, close enough now that she could make out some of him.

He was tall, not quite as tall as Kylo or broad, instead he seemed sleek. A leopard to Kylo’s bear, but no less deadly.

“I do not think that would be proper,” she said, trying to back away from him.

“I mean you no harm, perhaps we can assist each other. I have been sent to this region to procure something of value. Perhaps once I have proven my good faith, you could assist me in finding it,” he offered.

She did not feel comfortable with the arrangement, but feared that angering him would incur his wrath.

“What is your name?” she asked, trying to distract him as she worked out how to make him leave. She tried to wet her parched mouth, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, thick and heavy.

“I have been known by varying names, but you may call me Hux,” he responded.

“I’m Rey, my husband is Kylo. He was here a few minutes ago, he couldn’t have gone too far,” she said, trying to reassure herself, and remind him that she had someone.

“What does he look like?” Hux asked, and Rey wondered what good that information would do in the dark.

“He is tall, taller than you, and quite broad. He has black hair that curls around his shoulders, a sharp profile due to his aquiline nose. He was injured and now he has a scar across his face. He was wearing a dark chiton,” she said, picturing him again as he stood before her, slipping the most beautiful ring onto her finger.

A pang, deep within her chest, regret and loneliness.

“Hmm, and you say this man is your husband?” he asked.

She had to get away from this man. His questions were very strange, suspicious even, and the energy surrounding him was frenetic, chaotic in nature.

“Yes,” she answered, readying herself to run. She knew he was taller and if he desired, he could catch up to her, but she was hoping the suddenness of it would grant her an advantage.

“That, complicates things, but I think I have the solution to the problem I mentioned earlier,” he said, more so to himself than to her. “Excuse me, but this must be done,” not much of an apology in his voice and she turned toward him in confusion.

In his hand, a staff started to glow, illuminating more of him.

The staff was golden, twin snakes twining around the rod. With the added light she could make out his features, red hair spilling out from under a helmet. He wore the same style half chiton as Kylo had when she came upon him. Most alarming, however, was the fact that he lingered a few inches off the ground, wings flapping around his ankles, attached to his sandals.

“What?” she started, but was unable to finish as he touched her with the staff, her body immediately overcome, dragged into the blackness of sleep.

She came to slowly, her body not responding as fast as her mind, but her surroundings snuck in to her consciousness bit by bit. Her cheek pressed to cool stone, she lay on her side, her cuff missing from her arm. The air that flitted around was warm and carried a sweet floral scent, the smoke of torches giving an edge to the aroma.

“Why do I have a mortal girl in my throne room, Hermes?” She heard a booming voice say, familiar to her somehow but couldn’t pinpoint why it would be so. “I sent you out to ensure that Hephaestus was indeed dead, and you bring me a girl. I know my appetite for mortal maidens is well-known, but if this is your way of trying to soften the blow you are grossly mistaken,” he said, irritation in his voice.

“No, my lord. I could not locate him within the throng of people. He had departed before I arrived. But I do not think we will have to worry about trying to find him,” he said, and Rey recognized his voice as the man from the field, Hux. Hux was Hermes it seemed.

“My patience grows thin,” that thunderous voice warned.

“He will come to us, for her,” Hermes answered.

“For a mortal girl?” he scoffed.

“She is his wife,” he said, satisfaction curling around the statement. “I have left him a message, as is my duty. He will come,” Hux assured him.

No. _No_.

He could not come here, if this was real, not a dream or haze, then he was in grave danger. They wanted him dead and were using her to lure him into a trap. She could not let that happen, could not allow them to hurt him again.

She bolstered all her energy, forcing herself toward full consciousness.

“For your own sake, I hope so. I would hate to punish my personal messenger, I do rely on you so,” he said.

Rey did not need to hear it to know that Hux swallowed hard and nodded, too scared to speak, she could sense the tension in the air. He was not a man to be trifled with.

Pressing her palm against the cool marble floor, she pushed herself to her feet. The oppressiveness of the slumber still clung to her like a shroud, but she fought through it, resisting the urge to sway under it. She saw Hermes in full light for the first time, his face severe, his hair a coppery cast that was slicked back from his face, his helmet cradled under his arm. He avoided her gaze, staring instead at the man seated on the massive throne.

Even with its size he loomed within, mere centimeters away from overwhelming it. She had never seen anyone so large, or intimidating. His golden hair was streaked with dark grey, his beard the same. Despite those small signs of age, he seemed in prime physical shape. She did not need to be told to know who he was. This was the man from her dream, the man that struck Kylo the night she slept with the dragées, the night she found him.

Zeus.

His skin was bronzed, as if kissed by the sun, muscles straining under the skin.

He, however, did turn his attention to her. His eyes raked up and down her body, taking in her wedding dress, her hair which now tumbled out of its braids, curling loosely around her waist.

“Is what he says true, girl, are you the bride of Hephaestus?” he said.

 _Hephaestus_. God of fire and forge.

Of course.

He had said he worked as a smith, making weapons and gifts. It explained the ring she wore on her hand. Her thumb found the back of it, just above the flesh of her palm, the soft ridges comforting against her fingertip as she caressed it.

“Yes,” she said, jutting her chin out in pride, determined not to cower before him.

“And will he come for you?” Zeus asked.

“Yes,” she responded, her voice grave. She knew he would, knew he would try to help her, protect her above himself. He had said as much in his vows, proven that in how he treated her.

He scoffed, a rough sound grating against the back of his throat, contained within his mouth, lips thin as he clenched his jaw. He waved his hand, dismissing her, and Hermes’ hand encircled her arm.

“Take her to my wife, she can see to her while we wait… and it better not be long, or he will not have a bride left to find,” Zeus said, the finality in his voice letting her know that he had no regard for her life, nor her position as anything but a pawn in this horrible saga.

 _Please, Kylo, for your sake. Do not come for me,_ she pleaded in vain, knowing that even if he could hear her it wouldn’t matter. Fate had written this story long before her part in it.

They led her to Hera’s chamber and she was in the midst of putting her chestnut hair streaked with grey into braids across her head.

She turned and locked eyes with Rey and she could see the resemblance to Kylo, the same dark and intense stare, the same worried expression. In that gaze she recognized the anguish of a mother separated from her child, concerned for his wellbeing. Hera must have known what Rey’s presence here meant.

“Please,” Rey begged, approaching her as the mother of her beloved, not a goddess. “You cannot let this happen,” she finished.

Hera’s lips thinned, her eyes shadowed with pain and regret.

“There is nothing I can do. The mistakes I made are my own, but my son has inherited them and the price I am to pay is losing him. I have fought my husband, for millennia, trying to quell his moods and desires to no avail. Zeus will take what he wants.” Hera said, her expression defeated.

This was not the woman Rey had expected. Hera was supposed to be firm, strong, an equal force to her husband. But that must have been mortal rumors, whispers from the temples of an unworthy goddess.

“You are not who I thought you would be. I thought you would fight for him,” Rey said.

“Insolent girl! You presume to know me, to know my life. Although I may be a goddess, my lot in life is not so charmed. My tyrannical husband has seen to that. _Forgive me_ for being eroded away by the force of time and hate,” she spat. “I would have fought, once. When I was young and naïve and had the support. Now I am an island, surrounded by his children, destined to watch him pillage as he pleases. For who would dare to defy the mighty Zeus? Any further defiance would lead us both straight to Tartarus. Better my son stays exiled on earth than face an eternity in that hell,” Hera finished, seeming to sink into herself, as if her very soul was tired.

“He will not stay exiled. They sought him out, stole me away as a lure,” Rey said trying to stress how dangerous the situation was.

Hera scoffed, waving her hand dismissively, as if to say that she had no time for nonsense.

“He will come for me, and I will not see him struck down for it,” Rey said, steel in her voice.

“I hope for his sake and your own that he does not. If he follows, he will fall,” Hera said before taking her leave toward the bedroom.

Rey was left with the crushing sense of doom, like a storm rolling over the horizon, soon to ravage everything in its path. She only hoped they would make it through to the other side, but she was determined to fight either way. They would not stop her from protecting him, dead or alive they were bound to each other. No god would get in the way.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

By the time Kylo stumbled back to the house the revelry had died down, fires smoking their last, smoldering embers all that remained on the ground. The guests had retired to their own homes, the moon high in the night sky. Soft light from within the home told him that Loukâs was still awake.

He urged himself forward, his hand still clasped to his chest, the pain unbearable. Fingers gripping the wood so hard it splintered, he opened the door and the pit in his stomach ripped wide open when he saw Loukâs alone.

“Where is she? Has she been here?” Kylo rasped.

“The last I saw her she was with you. What happened?” Loukâs asked.

“When we kissed, she saw something. She attempted to explain but there was little sense to it. What I deduced from it was that she realized her power and who she was. I aimed to calm her down, reason with her but she struck me with her power and fled. I have yet to recover from the blow,” Kylo said.

“Where did you last see her?” Loukâs asked.

“Near the great lone oak, surrounded by the fields. I am not sure of the distance, or if it is even on your land,” Kylo said.

“Can you make it back out there? I will search the perimeter closer to the house. She knows the land well, even in the dark she should be able to manage her way home,” Loukâs said, whether to calm himself or Kylo was unclear.

Kylo nodded, willing his feet forward, his thick hand wrapping around the base one of the torches that remained from the revelry, the faint light and the moon his only guide.

After what felt like an age, he saw the tree and surrounding it an eerie thread of moonlight, a ribbon encircling the trunk. He approached with caution, apprehensive about what he would find.

Once at the tree, he saw the ribbon of light tied into a neat bow, within it the cuff Rey had used to conceal her scar.

With shaking hands Kylo reached for it, the smoky ring disappearing as soon as his fingers closed around the metal, his thumb caught on a rough inscription that had not been there before. Lifting the metal up to the torch he carried he made out the sigil of Hermes, the snakes intertwined on the staff. Turning it over he saw another message, the plain shape of a lightning bolt.

So, they had her.

They had taken her from him.

Emotion tarried, lagging behind the thought. The words seemed almost sterile in his mind, as if he could not accept what his eyes perceived. But despite his best effort he was overcome. Fear, metallic and thick in his mouth cloyed his throat until it felt like he would be ill. 

He sank to his knees, the torch tumbling from his grip, the soft licks of flame threatening to ignite the entire field.

This was his fault.

She was in danger because of him and his folly, and if he could not reach her in time, she could die.

The thought of Zeus, his vicious hands touching her skin, closing around her throat was enough to drive him toward madness.

He felt the rage build within his arms, muscles impossibly tight yearning to lash out, aching for an explosion. Surrendering to it, he harnessed the gentle flicker of fire at his feet, his scream otherworldly as he unleased his power for the first time since his fall.

Thrusting his arms upward the oak was engulfed in fiery abandon, a beacon of anger for as far as the eye could see.

Not enough.

He shoved his hands down into the hard earth, tree roots and small stones ripping into his hands, but he reached further, responding to the call from deep within the earth.

He could feel it rising to the surface, the familiarity of it nearly calming, almost but not quite the balm to quench the fire.

The soil beneath him shook with the fury of his assault, his head thrown back, teeth bared as he cried his anger and desperation into the skies.

The fervor of the inferno before him only served to drive him further, not enough to appease the chasm within. The years of hatred and anger stoked the seething heat within him, fueled further by the terror of losing what he realized loved.

Never had anyone treated him with such kindness and care. Never had he met someone that seemed to glow from within with love and light, in spite of what she endured. She was strong and sweet and far too good for the likes of him.

He would see to it that she made it home safe. If they so much as left a scratch on her they would have him and hell to face.

The earth opened up with groaning and creaking, splitting at the seams, and as the molten core within rose to the surface it pushed the ground up, bulging over the impending explosion.

Calling the ore within the earth to him, relishing the feel of the magma against his skin he worked on forging his final weapon. He never had the need for it before, never tried to fight back against the family ties that bound him to a life of servitude.

Until now.

His wife was in danger.

They could have come for him and he undoubtedly would have gone, sacrificed himself to protect his newfound home and family.

But they made a mistake in using her as bait.

So, he would come, would walk willingly into their trap, knowing he would not make it out alive. He would see Zeus plummet with him when he went, they could suffer in Tartarus for eons if it ensured Rey’s safety, but he would not let Zeus evade this.

He felt it take shape within his hands, the heft of it, a smooth hilt within his palm. The fibers of his wedding ring scorched away, the realization like a punch to the gut. The only thing he had from her, the symbol of their promise to each other, gone.

It was the final blow, the last thing he could endure and so he pulled his newly forged weapon from the earth, a smoldering red sword glowing in the blackness of night. Molten lava danced up into a blade, venting out of the sides into a cross-guard.

The heat would not hurt him, but anyone else would feel their skin charred from their bones if it so much as touched them.

He forced the weapon upward, launching himself into the sky, aided by the explosion below him, boulders flung from the opening. The mouth of the crater expanded as lava surged from deep within the world’s core, and wept down the sides of the volcano.

An errant thought warned him that his outburst would harm the mortals below, Loukâs could fall prey to the destruction, but it was set aside as he burned from within, single-minded in his goal.

He followed the ancient song of Mount Olympus, the fire deep within the mountain calling him home like a siren to his death.

His sandals had melted away under the heat, the bottom half of his chiton in embers, the rest of it fluttered around his thighs. His legs scorched black, ash and soot covering most of his skin, wedding clothes ruined. He smothered the flame from his weapon, tendrils of smoke all that remained.

He could only imagine what awaited him, the reception was certain to be cold.

Bare feet slapped against marble as he landed in their agora, the slab cracking under the impact, splintering the tranquility that surrounded him. Each step left a trail of black footprints, all the way up the stairs to Zeus’ throne room.

No one emerged to stop him and he deduced that they already waited, anticipating his arrival.

His assumption proved correct when he stepped into the room. Zeus dominated the throne, his hands gripping the edge, knuckles white with strain. His nostrils flaring, jaw jumping as he ground his teeth together, his snarl even more disgusted than usual.

His “family” surrounded the room, resolute. They had never looked more like the statue counterparts that littered the mortal world than in that moment.

One notable absence was that of his mother, and Rey.

“ _Where is she?”_ he growled, not bothering with formality.

“You are not welcome here, Hephaestus, you should have crawled into your hole and died when you had the chance,” Ares spat from the edge of the room.

Zeus raised his hand, silencing his brother. The air felt supercharged, and Kylo knew that it was merely a matter of moments before chaos broke out.

“I am surprised at your little display below. I will be the first to admit that we gods have a jealous streak, but such destruction seemed beneath you,” Aphrodite said and he shot her a look that had her backing away, cowering closer to Ares, a sight that would have once inspired anger or jealousy but now just seemed pathetic.

“Far be it for you to lecture me on moral standards when you spend your free time beneath my brother,” Kylo retorted and Aphrodite shook with anger at the accusation.

“Our relationship is void!” she shouted.

“It was a sham to begin with,” Kylo retorted and before Aphrodite could get a word in Zeus’ voice boomed throughout the space.

“Enough!” He rose from the throne, the floor beneath them vibrating with the timbre of his voice.

“Where is she? If you so much as laid a finger on her,” Kylo warned.

“What? What will you do, you insolent whelp? I grow fatigued of your petty anger. You think yourself more powerful than you are. I will show you what happens when my reign is questioned by the hubris of a lesser god… if one could call you a god at all,” Zeus said, stalking down toward Kylo. “You will fall, and your little bride can watch,” he taunted, gesturing with the flick of his hand.

His action blew open the diaphanous curtains around the room, and Kylo caught sight of Rey, Hermes’ hand wrapped around her arm as he tugged her into the room.

She still wore her wedding clothes, her careful braids loose and hair spilling about her waist. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, concern blooming across her features as she searched him for injury.

“Let her go!” Kylo shouted.

“Do not tell me what to do,” Zeus warned, his eyes flashing in warning, the suggestion of his lightning usually intimidating.

But not this time.

“Let her go or I will kill you,” Kylo said, his voice calm, resolve strong within him.

The statement sparked something within Zeus, his anger rising to the surface and being released into a bolt, but Kylo had expected this, the loud crack no surprise.

He called the flames to his blade, the molten heat of the earth’s core dancing inches from his fingertips.

He deflected the blow with his sword, the arc of lightning bowing as it struck the lava, crystals dropping from their meeting, the tinkling sound of glass meeting marble dissonant.

As quick as it shot out it disappeared, the blinding flash and heat gone, but the air felt thick enough to taste around them.

“So, you finally forged yourself a weapon of your own,” Zeus said.

“I finally had a reason,” Kylo said, daring to glance at Rey, his heart in his eyes.

She struggled against Hermes’ grip but stilled when their gazes locked. He hoped that she would understand, that she could forgive him for what he had done on earth and for what he was about to do to ensure her safety.

She seemed to notice something in his expression that alarmed her because her eyes welled with tears, her face twisting into a bitter sneer.

“No, don’t do this Kylo, please,” she begged.

“ _Kylo?_ “ Zeus scoffed.

“Yes, Kylo,” he responded and swung his blade in a sweeping arc, the hum of it filling the air.

Zeus managed to slip out of the way at the last moment. Kylo wondered what route he would take. The shooting lightning was of little use against his resistant blade. He reasoned that Zeus’ only option would be to use a solid weapon to parry.

Kylo was proven right when the solid bolt formed within Zeus’ grasp. He called to his power and combined it with the weapon that Kylo had forged for him eons ago. Swinging out, Zeus aimed for Kylo’s head, a clear killing blow.

Kylo met the bolt with his blade, twisting under their weapons, releasing at the last moment to strike a blow across Zeus’ torso.

The sizzle of his flesh seemed too loud in the room. The wound was cauterized by the heat of the blade as it cut. Zeus’ abdomen was bisected by an angry line, puckered skin scorched at the edges, puce and scarlet and shades in between.

Zeus barely flinched, lunging toward Kylo, stabbing toward him.

He narrowly avoided the blow, their blades meeting and sparking where they touched.

Zeus kicked out, the blow to Kylo’s abdomen hard enough to rob him of his breath. He tried his best to ignore the discomfort, deflecting to the best of his ability, but he was caught off guard and Zeus struck a blow to his side, the edge of the bolt stabbing into his flesh, golden ichor free-flowing onto the marble floor.

“Stop it! Please, stop!” Rey cried and Kylo was distracted for a moment by a ruckus at the edge of the room.

Hermes crumbled to the ground, a grunt of pain escaping his mouth as he writhed uncontrollably, his mouth frothing.

Zeus took advantage of his divided attention, his bolt carving through his tunic, dragging down his shoulder and over his chest. Kylo could not contain the cry that slipped through his mouth as he stumbled beneath the blow. He was outmatched and he knew it.

He had never fought, only ever supplied the warriors around him. His anger would not be enough to see him through this battle.

He would fail her.

“ _No_!” Rey shouted, lighting up the room with electricity.

Her bolts flew wildly, untamed and untrained, but focused on one person only: Zeus.

The massive man was petrified, his muscles locked up under the assault, his head flung back as he let out a mighty roar of pain and anger.

Kylo used the opportunity to sink his blade deep into Zeus’ chest while he could. Rey had never used this much of her power, and it was breathtaking to behold, but he knew it would not last for much longer.

Her hair floated around her, her feet a few inches off of the ground, her eyes silver with the glow of her power. The cracking of each bolt left a thunderous din in the tranquil air.

He basked in the apricity of her, invigorated despite his dire wounds. She was exquisite.

And depleted.

She sank to the floor, landing hard and falling to her knees before she collapsed.

He rushed over to her, concerned and seconds from exhaustion himself. Her breath was still, her chest unmoving.

His knees hit the floor, the blow not even registering.

Pain unlike any other speared through him, cutting him to the quick. His chest crushed beneath the weight of this grief. It covered him like a shroud, settling over his bones, drained and weary, too profound for tears.

He lifted her into his lap and cradled her small body within his arms, gathering her against the tattered fabric at chest, ichor weeping from his wounds.

Nothing mattered save for this. No one existed in this moment. It felt endless. He could find no way to comprehend a world without her.

He heard none of the gasps of his family members, didn’t see them shuffle in panic to escape the room.

Zeus staggered over toward them, intent on killing Kylo.

His bolt stabbed into the cavity of Kylo’s chest, the pain shallow compared to this, the promise of respite from it a welcome friend.

Kylo fell to the ground beside his wife, still holding her within the circle of his large arms, fingers intertwined with the soft waves of her hair. Infinite.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The panic in the room was palpable, the gods around her crying and screaming at the carnage before them.

“Stop! All of you, calm yourselves!” Hera shouted.

She had very little time, she had to ensure that she could slip away. Her son’s death affected her too deeply to convey, she could not stand by any longer, though she knew she was too late.

“Apollo, Ares and Athena help your father! Get him to our chamber so he can convalesce. Apollo, try your best to heal his wounds, I know they are extensive, but we have to try,” she said.

They nodded, dragging the heft of their father up the stairs to his chamber. Hera relied on Athena to ensure that neither of her brothers tried to usurp the throne. Athena was wise enough to know that the carnage of Ares and the ego of Apollo would not serve as leader. They would also not allow Athena to overtake them.

“Poseidon and Demeter, you are needed below, please see to the destruction. Quell the fire and heal as much of the land as you can. The mortals do not deserve to suffer for our feuds,” she instructed and they nodded, their faces somber.

She had to get Poseidon away from Olympus, she knew he might use this opportunity to strike a killing blow and seize power for himself as well.

“Aphrodite and Artemis please see to Hermes and his wounds in his chamber,” she said and the goddesses propped him up, on either side of him they supported him as he limped and dragged his feet forward.

The only one who remained in the room with her cowered in the corner furthest from the scene. Dionysus, his young face streaked with tears, stood trembling.

Hera suppressed the sigh that built within her. She always forgot about him.

He was usually frolicking with nymphs and mortals alike, spreading merriment wherever he went.

“Good god, Dionysus, if ever there was a time for a drink it would be now. Please!” Hera said.

He sprang to attention, inching closer to her, gathering from the air a decanter of sweet red wine and handed it to her with shaking hands.

Hera gulped down some wine, steeling herself for what had to be done.

“I need your help moving… them,” she finished after struggling through the sentence, gesturing to her son and his wife.

Dionysus nodded, transforming into his bull form, his pelt the same dark shade as his hair. Hera struggled to lift each of them, laying them over Dionysus’ back, the ichor that covered her son seeping into her dress.

They descended into Hephaestus’ old domain and she laid them both before the ever-burning forge. She could not break down, not now, not unless she failed.

Dionysus returned to his normal form, covered in sticky golden blood, staring down at himself in distress.

“You may go to cleanse yourself, thank you for your assistance,” she said, dismissing him and he did not hesitate before bounding up the stairs and away from the dead.

They looked peaceful, still touching somehow despite the fact that neither had the ability to ensure it. She bit back a bitter sob.

There was no time to mourn, no time to wallow in guilt for her hand in this.

Fate had led them all here, and Fate would see it through.

She retrieved the golden drachmas Hephaestus had received for his years of work, placing a golden coin upon each of their eyes. There was no time to build a pyre, the forge would have to serve. Time was of the essence.

She kissed her son’s cheek, so much like that of his father’s, and felt the same pang she had become accustomed to these years without him, knowing she had neglected her son because he reminded her too much of her lost love. Her motherly kiss was sweet on the cheek of her now-daughter. A tear escaped despite her efforts, the pain all the sharper knowing that she had never known the love of a mother, alone due to Zeus.

She pushed both of them into the chasm of the forge, their physical bodies falling into the inferno. As soon as she had seen them both off, she called the shadows in the room to her, wrapping them around her like a cloak as she descended into the shadow realm, toward the Underworld.

Hera reappeared seconds later, Hades’ palace stood before her, the black marble cut through with silvery white veins. She did not bother to announce herself, flinging the doors open and racing inside.

Spring was upon the mortal realm, Persephone would already have left to the surface. Hades spent his time tending to the moon-white narcissus blooms in her absence, the closest he could feel to his wife when she was away.

Hera ran through the palace, toward his private courtyard, panting by the time she arrived within his domain.

He seemed startled to see her there, righteous anger rising at the invasion of his privacy.

“Please, I know I have no right to be here, or to ask this of you, but I need your help,” Hera admitted.

Hades nodded for her to continue, the anger draining from his face as he took in her disheveled state, the ichor staining her gown.

“Zeus is gravely injured,” she started.

“I have no love for my brother and I have no healing ability, if he dies…” he interjected.

Hera lifted her hand to silence him.

“He is not the one I came for,” she said, “Zeus kidnapped a mortal, Hephaestus’ wife in order to lure him into a death battle,” Hera gasped in a much-needed breath.

Hades rose an eyebrow in question, the thought almost visible in the air but he knew better than to interject again.

“It was unexpected, Zeus and Hephaestus fought and Zeus was close to striking the final blow when this _mortal_ struck out at Zeus with lightning, paralyzing him and Hephaestus struck what I think may have been a fatal blow,” she sank down onto a bench near the flowers, marveling at the beauty of a night garden in the darkest of realms.

“The exertion was too much for the girl and she succumbed to her own powers, my son sank down beneath her, and as he clutched her to his body, he awaited Zeus’ final strike,” she finished.

An errant tear escaped through her resolve.

“Hera…” Hades started soft, his voice kind, “you know I cannot undo their deaths. It is not within my power. I merely guide the spirits, I do not control them,” he finished, regret within his voice.

Hades had always treated Hephaestus with kindness on the rare occasions that he ventured up to Olympus, knowing what it felt like to be an outcast within your own family.

She swallowed through the thick tears choking her.

“I know, logically I know that. I know no god can undo the actions of another. I had just hoped…” she petered off, too upset to voice her feeble wish.

“Perhaps there is something I can do,” he said, reaching out a hand for her to take and tugging her gently to her feet.

He led her out of the garden, toward the Elysian fields.

“You saw to it that they could pay for passage?” Hades asked and Hera nodded.

“Since they died before their time, they will not have forms yet, those that die suddenly arrive as pure essence,” Hades explained, gesturing to the glowing light coming toward them.

They continued through the peaceful fields, soft grasses billowing with the breeze, a pale sun warming the area, almost as sweet as the mortal realm. Pastel blooms, pale compared to their mortal counterparts but still beautiful, littered across the landscape.

She heard the trickle of water, bubbling nearby.

“They were both righteous and pure enough to be admitted here, but there is one other thing I can do for them, if I am right in my assumption,” Hades said and they came upon a glittering river, periwinkle blue reflecting the pale light from above.

“Hera, are they soulmates?” he asked.

“Truthfully, I did not see them together for very long, but they were willing to die for one another, so I would wager yes,” she said.

Hades’ lips thinned in sympathy, clearly, he knew the feeling.

“The river Lethe,” he said, gesturing to the water, so tempting even Hera wanted to step into it.

Two glowing shapes billowed around them, smoke curls of light, one red, the other gold. They danced around each other, twining together in the air above them.

“If their souls enter this river in their current state they will be transported, reborn into a new life. A mortal life, but life nonetheless. They will be separated, but if we are right and they are soulmates, then they will find each other,” Hades said, smiling as he saw their souls together.

Hera nodded, urging them toward the water. They seemed to understand, their spirits dipping into the shimmering liquid, lazily floating downstream before they separated, floating up into the sky.

Hera sank down to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and finally wept.

She had not been able to save them in this life, but she hoped this would make up for her mistakes. Hades placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as they watched the two disappear into their new fates.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading this short story. Sorry for the delay in posting, it was a hectic week, we had a death in the family, a car accident and then Thanksgiving so I just took some time to get through all of that. 
> 
> This is the epilogue to the story, I really hope you enjoy and thank you to everyone who took the time to comment! It really helps keep me motivated to keep writing!

Chapter 12: Epilogue

Kaimeno Vouno

Present day

Her eyes drank in the history before her, eager to absorb every word of what the tour guide was saying. She never imagined that she’d be able to be on a trip like this, especially given how far her family was from well-off.

Thank goodness for her uni professors. With their help, and her side job she had been able to sign up for the summer internship in Greece, to study under the tutelage of one of the best pilots and engineers in the world. He had retired here to be with his family apparently, and had been off the radar for years.

They lived not too far from here, away from Athens where she had been living in the dorms for the past two weeks, but it was finally time for the part of the trip she had been waiting for. Her friend Rose elbowed her, urging her to focus, always uber alert when Rey’s mind wandered.

She tuned back in to the lesson, marveling at the view around her. They stood atop an ancient volcano, the coast visible on one side, rolling farmland on the other. It was beautiful and warm, the sun coaxing her muscles to relax after their hike and she fought the urge to lie down and bask in it like some of the lizards nearby.

“This volcano spontaneously formed around 258 BC. Most of the people in these parts would have been farmers or fishermen, depending on the proximity to the coast. Technically the volcano is still active but it has not erupted since its appearance,” the guide said. “Local legend is that the god Hephaestus formed this volcano in a fit of rage, but we know it is because of fault lines deep under the sea. The ancient Greek gods are no more than stories these days, science is the only god we worship now,” the guide joked.

The trek had been invigorating, sweat beading on her forehead, a droplet curving its way down her spine. As beautiful as it was up here, she was ready to unwind before the excitement of the next week, to head back to the room and shower the dust and perspiration from her body.

They began their descent, the trail winding down the volcano, and finally boarding the bus that would take them back to the other side of the island.

Methana was spectacular, in a forgotten sort of way. It didn’t have as much tourist appeal as some of the more popular islands. The beaches were rockier, the towns smaller, the nightlife more of a community offering than the drunken stag do’s that plagued Mykonos.

Rey didn’t mind. She liked the lived-in look of the villages that they passed through, the hospitality of the people they met. Their tour guide was a local man from Kaimeni Chora. His mother owned the restaurant they had stopped at and she had insisted he give them the local history.

The small smile that Rey had been unable to suppress since the plane left Heathrow bloomed into a full grin as they came upon Methana, the sparkling turquoise of the Aegean beckoning. Her plan to shower and nap was promptly set aside once the idea of dipping into the water took hold.

Back home she was lucky to have a couple of good summer days and a swim in the pool at the leisure centre, she couldn’t pass this opportunity up.

“Rose, I think I might pop out for a bit to go for a dip, care to join me?” Rey asked.

“I was actually going to get some last-minute studying done before next week, this outing was the only time I had really allotted for leisure, at least for now,” Rose said and Rey felt like a total knob.

“God, you make me feel like such a slacker,” Rey complained to her friend’s amusement.

“Rey, you’re bloody clever, you don’t need the extra study time, you pick everything up so quickly,” Rose said, trying to set her at ease.

“Not everything, this is the only stuff I’m good at. I’m rubbish at a lot of other things, like cooking and meeting new people. I get angry far too easily and I’m too stubborn for my own good. My parents… well I have trouble letting go of the past. The only thing I have going for me is the fact that I spent so much time taking things apart and putting them back together that it got me into uni,” Rey finished, uncomfortable with the praise, wishing the compliment didn’t mean so much to her.

Rose scoffed, shaking her head and waving a dismissive hand at Rey, as if to say that didn’t even warrant a response.

They arrived back at their accommodations, dropping off their hiking gear. Rose sat cross-legged on top of her bed, already combing through her reading material, headphones on. Rey donned her swimming costume under her clothes, offering a silent request to Rose one last time, but she shook her head and pointed at the book, not bothering to wait for a response before she continued her reading.

Rey wandered through town, walking along the coastline, trying to find the perfect spot. The main strip of beach, across the marina from the sulphuric thermal bath was crowded, families enjoying the heat and the soft breeze.

She was in the mood for something less crowded, wanting to take advantage of the vastness of the ocean, so she kept walking. Meandering aimlessly along the road, it started to split further from the coast, the road winding upward, no longer serving her needs.

She abandoned the paved road, opting for smaller trails, determined to find the perfect spot. After what felt like the same amount of walking they did up the volcano she came across a secluded cove.

A rockface beside her, the traffic sounds from the road long gone, the area was littered with pine and olive trees that lent shade to the beach. A small abandoned pier bobbed along the water nearby, the perfect spot to dip into the water and dry off afterwards.

She swallowed the glee that filled her and threatened to spill out as a giggle. Already slipping her t-shirt over her head as she jogged toward the pier. Her sandaled feet slapped against the blue wood as she raced toward the end, stopping short right before the water to drop her shorts and slip her feet out.

The splash of her skin hitting the water was loud in the secluded area, the vastness of the sea swallowing her and surrounding her in its embrace. She emerged from the glistening liquid, her hair plastered to her head, dripping down into her eyes.

She floated along with the gentle sway of the tide, the only sounds around her the chirping of birds and the waves lapping against the pier. Relaxing into the warmth of the water, she let herself release all her anxiety for just a moment. All of her doubt, her insecurity seemed to drift away.

The skin on her face and shoulders started to feel hot and taut and she knew instinctively that she was getting a sunburn, reluctantly dragging herself up onto the pier she stood to don her shorts. Not quite ready for it all to end but she couldn’t show up tomorrow looking like a bloody tomato.

“Ti káneis edó? Den aníkete edó, aftí eínai idiotikí gi!” a deep male voice shouted from the distance, difficult to make out over the drone of his jet ski, but it was clear that he was yelling at her, his fist raised and shaking.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Greek!” she shouted back, hoping that he might understand.

As he got closer so could make out thick black hair whipping in the wind, strong arms bulging out from the life vest.

“I said you… this is… property!” he shouted--at least that’s what she could make out.

“What?” she yelled, still not sure she understood what he was saying.

He was close enough now that she could start to make out his facial expression, and it was not pleased.

“For god’s sake! You are trespassing on private…” he started and tried to cut over so that he could continue talking to her, the sudden movement propelling him off of the jet ski and cutting his sentence short.

His massive body flew over the front, hitting the water hard, the sound painful. Rey didn’t dare breathe and when he surfaced face-down and didn’t move within a few seconds she dove in without another thought, swimming over to where she had seen him fall.

He drifted, suspended on the water, his eyes shut. She wrapped her arms around his chest, her front pressing into his back and rolled him over, briefly sinking under the water before she got into position. She kicked with all her might, even though the vest helped keep him aloft.

He was very heavy.

She had worked at the leisure centre one summer as a lifeguard to pay for the membership fees and she had fortunately never had to do a rescue, but the drills ran through her head now as she tugged them both toward the beach. One arm was hooked around his at the shoulder, the other paddling for dear life.

The distance felt twice as long now that she had his heft to contend with, and there were a few moments where she faltered, her adrenaline fading. By the time she made it back to the pier she was panting.

Her feet found a hold on the rocks below the surface and she dragged him up until she was able to pull him up onto the pier.

She laid him flat on his back, turning his head so that any excess water could flow from his mouth and nose. His chest was still beneath her hand, not breathing.

She unhooked the life vest. Checking his airway was clear and tilting his head into position she then delivered the two recommended rescue breaths before she started chest compressions.

When her mouth met his, her body was struck by the strangest feeling, like the lurch in your stomach right before the freefall on a rollercoaster.

His skin was warm beneath her hands and smelt faintly of sea salt and sunscreen, his chest muscled and bronzed.

At least he didn’t have bad breath.

This was not how she had seen this day going. It was supposed to be relaxing, a way to ease into the stress of meeting her hero. Instead she pounded on a colossal chest, expelling air into a lush mouth and praying to a god she didn’t believe in to see to his survival.

After what felt like an eternity he started coughing, the barking sound coming from deep within his chest and she helped him turn onto his side as the salty water came rushing from his mouth.

Once he was able to breathe on his own, she collapsed onto her bottom, breathing a sigh of relief, closing her eyes to send up her thanks to whoever was listening.

“I said… you’re trespassing on private land,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from all the coughing and sputtering.

Rey couldn’t believe the audacity. No thanks for saving his life. No introduction.

“You’re welcome, for saving your arse by the way,” she spat, opening her eyes and seeing that his scowl matched her own.

The man was magnetic, even as pissed off as he seemed she had never felt so small and in awe. He had the presence of a thunderstorm.

“None of that would even had happened if I hadn’t been trying to tell you to leave,” he said, exasperation coloring the American accent.

“Oh sure. Go ahead and blame me, and not the fact that you were racing around on an aquatic death trap!” she yelled, irritation spiking.

Stepping over him she walked to the end of the pier to retrieve her clothes and shoes where she had left them. She pulled them on as quickly as she could, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to her dripping wet swimming costume.

“Goddamn tourists and their complete lack of respect,” he said, his voice curling around the sneer that was still on his face.

And it was a pity it was such a handsome face, because Rey was inches away from wanting to smack the sneer right off of it.

“Listen, there were no signs, I wouldn’t have done it if I had known. Besides, it is not as if I was drinking or littering or throwing a party. I didn’t endanger any plants or animals, if anything I just saved a life. So, I’ll just get out of your hair,” Rey said, stepping over him again.

She waited for his retort, surprised when it didn’t come immediately. Risking a look over her shoulder she saw him struggling to get to his feet, not steady by any means, and the rocking of the pier didn’t help either.

Suppressing the groan that crawled up her throat she turned back to help him.

“I can do it myself,” he grit out through his teeth.

“No offence, but you can’t. You probably have a concussion and it’s likely that a few of your ribs are either bruised or broken from the CPR,” Rey finished, regretting that she had a hand in his pain.

He took the hand she offered and she helped him to his feet.

“Let me help you,” she offered, staring up into those dark eyes, fighting some primal urge to do anything to make the man smile.

“Okay,” he agreed, reluctance clear. “I’m sorry for being so rude, it was just unexpected and I’m in a lot of pain,” he said.

His expression softened and she gave him a brief smile.

“That’s alright. Let’s focus on getting you out of here,” she said.

He nodded, resting his hand on her shoulder for support.

“Thank you. I realize I don’t even know your name,” he said.

“Rey, my friends just call me Rey,” she answered.

“Rey…” he repeated.

Her name on his lips did some very strange things to her insides.

“I’m Ben Solo, but I usually go by Kylo,” he said.

She struggled to comprehend what she heard.

Ben Solo. Son of Han Solo… the instructor and famed pilot she couldn’t wait to meet and Leia Organa, American ambassador to Greece.

Fate was playing games with her, that much was sure.

She couldn’t blame him for wanting to carve out his own identity in a famous family like his.

Still, nothing prepared her for the flash she felt inside of her chest when she heard him say Kylo.

Kylo. So familiar somehow.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Kylo,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she said the name.

“Likewise,” he said, a breathtaking smile smoothing the hardness of his face for the first time since they met and Rey knew she was in danger.

It was going to be an interesting summer.


End file.
